


Ursa Major

by TheFirstAcolyte (DocStrunk)



Series: Where You've Been [2]
Category: Psionics: The Next Stage in Human Evolution (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination, Blood and Torture, Female Characters, Female Protagonist, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Trauma, Punk, Recreational Drug Use, Rehabilitation, Rescue Missions, Road Trips, Starting Over, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:04:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 43,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4279566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DocStrunk/pseuds/TheFirstAcolyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where psionic powers don't exist, the few humans who have the genetic potential to develop them are forced to navigate a shadow war between six factions. The only faction that views these people (called espers) as people and not commodities is a cult named The Zodiac Order. Three members will have to use their abilities to keep a legendary scryer out of the hands of an organization that would destroy them, while navigating the severe disturbances and trauma experienced by the most junior member of the party.</p><p>Some of the things in this story have actually happened. Have fun guessing which!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wednesday, July 22nd, 2015. 2:12 a.m.

My eyes see all and they see through you.

_\- Cheap Sex “Eyes See All”_

Two women were approaching a parked camper at a gas station. It was late, but the lights from the pumps and nearby streetlights illuminated them well enough. Their movements were relaxed and unhurried. He wasn’t in the proper position to see their faces clearly, but he knew enough about them to figure out which was which. One was pale, short and well-muscled, with a pink pixie cut. Her left leg appeared to be covered in some kind of elaborate, colorful, tattoo. That would be Clara Smythe. The other one, Jessica Jimenez, was average height and thin, with olive skin. She was one of Jeremy Bright’s daughters. Her hair was short and stuck out in messy spikes, the right half black and the left half a vibrant blue. He briefly reached out to both of them in turn. Jessica was tenser than she appeared. Clara was enviably carefree. Jessica said something and Clara laughed, stopping and playfully shoving her companion before taking a cigarette from behind her ear and saying something in reply. She looked expectant. Jessica winked and a small flame ignited on the tip. Clara inhaled, said something else, and they both laughed again. Jessica reached a hand into her trench coat without unbuttoning it, adjusting something. The coat simply looked too big at first, and not at all appropriate for the weather, but if you looked carefully at how it moved as she did, you could tell that there was something underneath. Not that you would. You would probably pay more attention to her hair, which may have been a tactical choice. Well, no problems there. That’s not what he was looking for anyway. Everything went black as ambient noise filled his head. No reason to overexert right now. He heard the sound of footsteps on pavement.

“You fully ready, buddy?” The voice was silvery and upbeat.

“Always am. How long will it take?” A soft, chest voice asked in reply.

“Um—” The sound of someone blowing air through their lips absent-mindedly. “—I’unno.” A pause. This one’s accent was hard to pin down.

“You’ve done this like fifteen times!” Mildly exasperated, surprised, and resigned all at the same time. Slight Bronx accent.

“Ok, it’ll take exactly ten minutes longer than it’ll take you to get pissed off about us not being there yet.” The lower voice giggled.

“Perfect…You friggin’ jackass.”

“I wuv you too, Cytie bear.”

The room came back into view as he opened his eyes. He took a moment to drink some water from the glass on the nightstand. It was late, but he couldn’t sleep yet. It was a tense situation. Well, not yet, but it would be soon. He wanted to check in beforehand, just to reassure himself. He had the intel, the contacts, the skills, and the travel history for a quick peek. This wasn’t strictly necessary, but he wanted to know what they’d look like. He considered going back to introduce himself and immediately decided against it. _Don’t interfere. Just sit back and let it happen._

He had never quite learned how to cope with his gift’s unique set of stressors. It wasn’t that he couldn’t deal with his gift or that he didn’t like it, although he was occasionally disturbed by which objects had the Glow, it was just that his methods always made him feel a little bit creepy. The others didn’t feel that way though. He made them feel safe, as they had reassured him time and again. He loved that about them, among many other things. Still, he was keenly aware that a less ethical person with his gift would be a monster. He’d heard that one of the executives in Abraxis had reached his level recently and he hoped to God that it was just a rumor. He took a slow, deep breath. It was about two in the morning. The other one should be checking in. He closed his eyes and focused again. Hopefully, she was in the mood to keep her appointment. Apparently she usually wasn’t in a cooperative mood.

A strip mall parking lot with a lone car. All of the shops were closed, of course. The lighting was worse here; all of the streetlights were too far away. Again, probably a tactical choice. The odds were good that that car was stolen. A woman exited the car and approached a pay phone near the storefronts. That had to be Rose Klinge. Tall, for a woman, ghostly pale, and imposingly muscular. Long, green, hair, with a multitude of tattoos on her arms. Walking impatiently, visibly tense. He reached out to her as well. Deeply emotionally fatigued, to the point of having a nearly flat affect. She quickly inserted some coins and dialed. She leaned against the phone. Her breathing was visibly labored and she appeared to cough. Everything went black. There was less ambient noise here.

“Come _on_.” Deep, thick, and hoarse. Possibly ill. The phone on the other end of the line was ringing. “Come on, you worthless piece of shit.” Irritation and fatigue with an undertone of upset.

“Hi!” A man’s voice. Chipper and friendly. Baritone. Prism, if he was correct. “You’re on the way, right?”

“Of course. I’m not out here for fucking fun.” She snapped in reply.

“You’re safe?” Appealing. Concerned. An annoyed sigh in reply.

“It doesn’t fucking matter. I’ll be there, ok?” She was difficult to place as well, but not so much as Jessica had been. A very slight Southern accent; possibly Georgia or Florida? She wasn’t speaking clearly.

“You can come home, you know.” Another sigh. Slower, more tired. “Come back after this. Take a break.” Upper Midwest accent. Possibly Detroit. Almost certainly Prism. It sounded as though he had said this before and was sincerely hoping that she’d agree. Prism generally had good ideas, in Sirius’ experience.

“Look, just…will you tell me what happened, if I do this? Can you get someone to tell me what happened?” Anxiety. Frustration. The voice was becoming brittle. It sounded as though she had said this before and was reluctantly hoping that he’d agree. According to what he had heard, Rose generally didn’t have good ideas. Lately, anyway.

“Are you drunk again?” Thus far, Rose was fitting her dossier to an absolute T. Sirius tensed slightly as he heard light, quick, footfalls. _That can’t be good._ “Look, I don’t know and it’s not up to me. Of course, I’ll pass alon—“ _She doesn’t know._ Tension gripped his chest. _Don’t interfere, just let things happen._ He pressed his fingertips to his temples as he felt the beginning of a cluster headache. He couldn’t stop now though. Exerting himself a bit more, he concentrated on Seeing again.

“Don’t fucking feed me—“ The footfalls continued. The parking lot came back. Intuition told him to keep listening as well. “—that messenger bullshit again. Yes or no, asshole?” _Thorny as her namesake._ There was a figure standing behind her, about five feet away. A man. She hadn’t noticed him. Even in this light, Sirius could see that he looked filthy and his clothing was ragged and stained. His face wasn’t visible from this angle but his apprehension was palpable. He was holding a hunting knife. Sirius began to breath quickly as the tension in his chest reached up into his throat. _She’s going to be fine. She’s going to be fine. Don’t interfere. It’s going to be fine._

She must have sensed him, because she stopped mid-sentence and started to turn around. Any hope Sirius had that he was just going to try to rob her was destroyed as the man lunged at her, clumsily swinging the knife in a wide arc.  Rose saw him quickly enough to move, but not quickly enough to dodge entirely. She tried to duck out of the way while turning to face him, but he left a large gash in her ribs. A strangled shriek escaped her as blood sprayed out. She backed away and went into an upright boxing stance. Her left arm was low, probably to protect her wound, and a large red stain was already spreading down her side. He lunged at her with his knife again, going for her face this time. She managed to dodge it entirely, fluidly leaning out of the way while stepping backwards, but she stumbled and he was on her again in an instant. Still, she danced out of the way of a vicious slash that would have ripped her stomach open and stood her ground. Sirius quickly reach out to her as a sadistic smile washed over her face. She had realized that he was alone. He aimed a downward cut at her face, putting all of his body weight behind it. She didn’t even try to dodge. She kept smiling as a light, blue, aura surrounded her, stopping the knife less than an inch from her face. Between the force of the attack and the force of the Barrier, the knife was forced from his hand and spun away.

“Wrong chick, motherfucker.” She took a quick half-step forward. Her jab was so fast that Sirius barely even saw it before the man lurched backwards, his nose shattered and bleeding. She made a guttural, snarling noise as he tried to find his footing. Still smiling, she quickly snapped two fingers, and pointed. The man levitated a few feet into the air before his body was launched into one of the store fronts. Behind him, the brickwork cracked slightly. He stood there for a moment, eyes wide open and face covered in blood, before falling forward. The back of his skull had shattered against the wall. Blood and brains decorated the point of impact and the back of his coat. He’d never stood a chance. Prism was yelling. The poor man would be terrified for her, Sirius knew.

 _“Rose?? ROSE?! What happened!??”_  She staggered over to the phone again, her hand pressed against her wound and picked the now blood-spattered receiver up. She was leaning harder on the pay phone this time.

“Gotta go.” She was panting and clearly in a great deal of pain. “Got cut up by—“ She tried to take a deep breath, but abruptly cut it short and winced. He sincerely hoped that her lung hadn’t been pierced. That would be incredibly inconvenient, to say the least. “—another one of these fucking speed freaks.” Another attempt at a deep breath. She coughed hard. Her voice was thicker now. “I made a mess.”

“Do you need help?” Relief and urgency.  _Yes._  “I’ll check the local safe houses and—“

 _“No.”_  She snapped and slammed the receiver down, to Sirius’ profound dismay. She walked a few steps, paused, looking like she had just thought of something. “Aw, damn it!” She turned back to the phone. She removed her hand from her wound and stole a glance at it. She was bleeding badly. _Please take care of that. Please._ “…Fuck it.” She replaced her hand and made her way back to the car.

The parking lot faded as he opened his eyes again. Sirius was trembling slightly. He lay back in the bed and closed his eyes, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. He knew that Rose would evade the authorities and presumably get medical attention shortly, despite the generous DNA sample and body she had left behind. He felt guilty for not warning her, for not asking her if she was alright. She shouldn’t be alone right now. _She won’t be alone much longer._   _Don’t interfere. Just let things happen._  He hoped that that had been the right choice; it generally was. If nothing else, he knew that they would all survive at least the week, as would he. He rolled onto his side, wrapping an arm and a leg around the sleeping figure next to him. He wondered if the same could be said of the rest of them.


	2. Wednesday, July 22nd, 2015. 3:00 a.m.

Never worried about my belly, there's rats for that

I never worried about the future 'cause I'm a cat.

_\- The World/Inferno Friendship Society “Cats Are Not Lucky Creatures”_

JJ Decay was in a fantastic mood. She was behind the wheel of one of the nicest RVs that Cyte had stolen in recent memory, said best buddy was with her, the roads were empty, a brand new gig was looming on the horizon, the shuffle function on her MP3 player had just graced them with the dulcet tones of The Boys, and they had enough corn nuts to choke the most accomplished blowjob specialist in all the land. It’d be better if she knew what was going on, but that just made it more of an adventure. ‘Sides, she wasn’t supposed to find out most of the details until they were already in New York. Also, she was reasonably certain that Cyte had already told her at some point. Sometimes she reflected on how much more cool shit she’d know if she’d pay attention more often. Ah, well.

“I have to be honest.” Cyte started as she reclined the passenger seat. “I have literally no idea why they gave you the intel and not me…or why it’s written down, for that matter.” JJ shrugged. She’d been wondering the same thing. The second bit, that is. The first bit was clearly because she was a stone cold badass. No disrespect to Cyte, of course. Said intel was actually chilling in one of her coat’s inside pockets. It seemed like the safest place, given how often she lost shit. Also, carrying contraband on your person was something that JJ found irresistibly sexy. She also liked to think that the intel complimented her guns and pills nicely; she had a nice little bouquet of illegal going on under her coat, weather be damned. S’not like heat bothered her anyway. She cracked her neck before replying to Cyte.

“No fuckin’ idea. So who are we jamming with this time? ‘Riz?” ‘Riz usually meant hitting lots of parties and running drugs. Dude was a total sweetheart too. Had a knack for recruiting new members and making friends, much like JJ. Cyte grabbed a mostly full two liter of soda from behind her seat and tried to open it. It was amazing to JJ that Cyte could bench like 200 pounds easy, but couldn’t reliably conquer bottles. JJ had once commented that she’d expected Cyte to have stronger wrist muscles, given what public bathroom walls around the country had to say about her. Cyte had punched for it, but it had been so fucking worth it.

“Nah, he’s running the Northeast emergency line right now.”  _Boo_. Good for anyone who needed it though. ‘Riz was as reliable as the tides; he didn’t even smoke weed when he was on that kinda job. Usually had good molly to share too. Clara was still struggling with the cap. JJ smirked slightly, but wasn’t about to give her shit for it. _Looks like it’s time to bust out my fifth favorite thing._ JJ had a ton of favorite things.

“Jazz? Yo, lemme.” Every jam with Jazz was an epic series of mistakes, misunderstandings, wrong turns, and general fuckery. He got the weirdest assignments too. Half the time, JJ suspected that Dad was just fucking with him. She couldn’t blame him; usually what happened was that everything would go insanely wrong right up until the last second and then something awesome and improbable would sort it all out. Half of the gain from his missions was just hearing what the fuck had happened. Real morale booster, the poor bastard. Cyte held the bottle out, as JJ had anticipated, before replying.

“I think he’s laid up. Some survivalist asshole mistook him for a secret representative from congress who was there to steal his land and he got an ass full of rock salt from a shotgun.” Yup, that sounded like business as usual. JJ put a finger on the cap and concentrated for a few seconds, keeping her eyes on the road. She winced slightly as a mild burning sensation crept up her finger.

“I swear that kid’s synch is fucking broken. How ‘bout The Scream?” If it was Scream, then they didn’t have enough guns or drugs on hand. That woman was the bane of life insurance companies the world over...or maybe it was the guy. It was hard to tell with Scream. Half the time you couldn’t tell which one you were talking to. At least when they talked to each other, they would say their name first, which they never, ever bothered to explain to anyone. JJ had to appreciate the degree to which that fucked with the newbies. Shame they were such a fucking sourpuss. When she was sure enough time had passed JJ took her hand away from the cap, shook it out a bit, and put it back on the wheel. The burning had stopped but her finger was still a little sore.

“Not even gonna dignify that one with an answer.” Cyte tried the cap again. It shattered in her hand. JJ giggled slightly. Cyte looked into the bottle, looked at JJ, rolled her eyes, and sighed. “H’ok, drink this carefully.”

“Shut up, you knew that was gonna happen. Anyhow, I won’t say I’m glad but...yeah. Mambo?” She hoped so. JJ hadn’t seen Mambo in way too long. Her jams were usually for gathering intel and making sure that safe houses were properly staying on the DL. She also had several talents, interests, and hobbies that JJ found relaxing, such animal husbandry, voodoo, and the gay.

“No.”  _Damn it! “_ She’s busy pretending to be a survivalist asshole that’s afraid of congress stealing her land.” Cyte produced a bottle of shit bourbon from beneath her seat and carefully poured some into the bottle of soda.

“Oof, poor chick. There has got to be a better way to stockpile guns.” At least she was probably on a farm though. She liked those. Cyte took a drink and added more bourbon.

“If there is, mankind has not yet found it.” She took another drink, paused, and poured the rest of the booze in. She tossed the bottle out the window, placed her palm over the top of the soda bottle and shook it a bit. “You’re not going to guess.” JJ thought about it for a second. She was starting to feel worried.

"It’s not Skuzz, is it?” Skuzz always got the really bullshitty assignments, which was only fair because the dude was a fucking idiot, a douchebag, and probably the worst telek in existence.

“No, no, no. Relax. This is a new one for us. She’s a telek with soma, apparently.” Cyte took another drink, made a face, spat a shard of the cap out the window, and passed the bottle to JJ. “If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that this is a rehab mission.” JJ took a long drink before passing the bottle back and spat a few shards into the cup holder. Cyte made a noise of displeasure.

“Why ya sayin’ that? And shut up, it’s not like we paid for this thing.”

“Well, I’m told that she started off strong and proved herself pretty soon after manifesting. She helped take out an Abraxis facility, survived that Institute raid last year, and is supposed to be pretty good at fighting.”  _Should fuckin’ hope so, if they’re a soma. “_ Anyway, she went overseas a few months ago and she’s been in a bottle ever since she got back. Her mission got botched insanely badly, but I don’t really know the details. According to Tara, neither does she and she’s been limiting herself to the kind of bullshit that the disciples normally do.  Jeremy feels like she’s being wasted and wants her properly back in the game.” Cyte took a long pull. JJ smirked again. _Looks like someone isn’t planning to have a go at the wheel._

“So, we’re babysitting?” JJ wasn’t being petulant. This was legit something she had done several times in the past. The Order life wasn’t easy, especially on the new blood. Sometimes they needed some help. Besides, JJ thought of herself as kind of The Zodiac Order’s big sister, what with her literally being a big sister to a metric fuckton of siblings within The Zodiac Order and whatnot.

“I think that’s secondary, but kinda. Heads up, she’s supposed to be kind of a cunt.” _Of course._ She took another drink and briefly choked before spitting another shard out. “Damn it! Next time just heat up the cap a little so it expands!”

“I’m not JJ Deheatshitupalittle, yo.”

“Oh, shut up, JJ.”


	3. Thursday, July 23rd, 2015. 7 p.m.

So weary, this straightjacket dreamer

So resigned to continue to suffer

But you’ve learned that as you grow weaker

There’s less hurt because there’s much less to hurt

\- _Siouxise and the Banshees, “Stargazer”_

Rose studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror, checking the consistency of her color; She had just dyed her hair. Hunter green, as usual. The familiarity of the process was comforting, in a kind of meditative way. Fuck knows she needed the come down after that bullshit in the parking lot. Finally getting a shower had helped too. Her chest-length hair was thick and wavy. She had two studs in her right nostril, two rings in her left eyebrow, a labret ring, and a multitude of earrings. Her eyes were a piercing, pale, green, with thick, highly-arched eyebrows. She had a square face with severe and angular features and a strong jawline. It was weird how none of that had changed much, given how insane everything else had become. She didn’t look at herself much these days. Rose had stopped thinking of herself as a person lately. Really, she was more of a smart weapon, no matter what anyone else tried to tell her.  _Or maybe a bear._  She threw away her stained latex gloves and used the towel around her neck to dry her hair, wondering how long it would take for some other poor fuck to clean up the mess; She sure as shit wasn’t going to. Judging by the state of this shithole, that was probably a hypothetical question. Whoever tacked the word “hotel” to the name of this rat trap was going to go to Hell for lying _._  Her right arm did most of the work as she dried her hair. Her left side was still tender and the last thing she needed was to bust it open again. Se probably shouldn’t have worked up such a buzz beforehand.

When she had been healthier, people would sometimes ask if she was a fighter or a bodyguard, and she had been. Sort of.  In a general sense. She’d been boxing since she was a teenager and damned if it hadn’t turned out to be a practical skill. Sometimes, she would feel a pang of regret that she’d had to give up dealing when she had been awakened. That had been a simpler life and she would have been so much better at it now. The somakinesis, along with a few stints of prolonged deprivation, regular food scarcity, fist fights, and all the cardio she got running from the cops, had given her excellently defined musculature and a hell of an arm. Every time she heard people freaking out over models popping pills and throwing up to stay thin, she heard a small violin playing. She was still surprised by her body; it had changed so much in the last year that it was kind of hard to believe that it was hers. Wait, had it even been a year? No, less than that even. It’d be a year next month. It had changed so quickly. It was stronger and faster and tougher and riddled with souvenirs from her misadventures. It healed quickly too. Faster than any normal human. Faster than average for an esper, even. Better too. Actually, all things considered, the actual shape of her body was probably the oddest thing, visually. The soma maintained her muscle tone, but the effect was weird. She was too big to be this small, for all the sense that made, which wasn’t a whole hell of a lot. She looked like she shouldn’t have been able to support her own weight. Well, in any case, she could support her own weight and a fuckload more and she was alive and that was what mattered.

_Lucky, lucky, lucky me._  She pulled off her black muscle shirt and started to remove the gauze pad from her chest. Cut laceration. Left serratus anterior. At least she thought that was the right term. She bitterly reflected on the fact that her little brother wasn’t around to teach her the lingo anymore and that she hadn’t ever taken the five seconds to ask him to show her how to properly do stitches. That junkie cunt had sliced her up only yesterday and she hadn’t done the best job of patching herself up. It would do though; she’d be okay. Little Brother would have roasted his ass for hurting her. He didn’t like doing that to people but he’d do it for her. He’d done it before.

_Stupid, fucking, grimy, fucking, junkie, fucking, asshole._  She hadn’t even gotten a score from that cunt with the knife, what with the giant fuck off chest wound he’d given her. She probably wouldn’t have found anything good anyway. That necklace he’d been wearing might have been worth something, but she hadn’t had time for a good look at it and unless the Hope fucking Diamond was on it, and it fucking wasn’t, it wasn’t worth digging through what was left of him to get it. It was probably just cheap, shiny, crap anyway. _Wasn’t so long ago you were taking shotguns and drugs off of mercenaries…We’re on a break right now. No, you aren’t. Shut up._ Rose shook her head slightly and focused on tending to her injury again but she couldn’t pull her thoughts away from the attack.

That crazy fuck had probably been going for her heart or maybe he had been trying to slice open a lung so that it would be hard for her to scream. Maybe he had been trying to sever her spinal cord so that she wouldn’t be able to get away by normal means. Rose tried to push away the thoughts of all of the things he could have done to her if she hadn’t noticed in time. There was enough danger out there already without her mulling over all of the potential violence that could be done to her. It didn’t matter anyway; that rancid fuck wouldn’t be victimizing anyone anytime soon. Dude hadn’t stood a chance anyway. He’d had no idea what he was fucking with. Her thoughts started to race as she began to feel angry. Resentful even. She’d walked away from way worse punishment than some little cut. She’d walked away from fucking teams of super soldiers. The last thing she remembered doing before waking up in the states was throwing a tank and a bunch of Limey fucks around like they were bowling pins. This junkie asshole thought he could take _her_? Seriously?? She had carried people out of combat zones with fucking bullets in her and he thought that a knife would do it? Yeah, he couldn’t have known who she was, but fuck. Also, that tiny little thing had barely even hurt her and it probably wouldn’t even leave a mark. You couldn’t even see the scars on her neck and chest unless you got close to her. Not that that happened often these days; being seen too much was dangerous. Or maybe people just pretended not to notice them. Or maybe they just noticed other things, like the piercings, or the hair, or her knuckles, the latter habitually taking up people’s entire field of vision for one reason or another. They’d offered to remove her scars for her when she’d gotten back. They had gotten rid of the big one, but that hadn’t been a scar so much as— _No, no, no, no. Not now. Calm down._ Rose realized that she had been clenching her jaw and her hands were balled into fists. _You know, getting lost in your own head wouldn’t be so stressful if you made it into a nicer place. Shut up._ Rose shook her head again and started breathing slowly and deeply. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Controlled and rhythmic, just like they had taught her. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to her bullshit right now. Once again, she shifted her focus to her injury.

The cut was already much shallower than it should have been. It still hurt, but it wasn’t infected. She knew how to take care of herself, even if she couldn’t do needlework; her mother was a nurse and her little brother was a doctor. God knew she gotten a ton of practice patching herself up too. She’d cleaned and dressed it as soon as she put some distance between herself and that parking lot, although a gas station bathroom probably hadn’t been the best place in the world to do that. She missed having someone else around to fix her up. That was actually the worst part of being injured, not that she would ever say that out loud.  _Bears don’t wangst, pussy. Don’t say that. Also, you know that they already know how you feel._

She finished working on herself, probably for the last time unless the gash was reopened, and gingerly pulled the shirt back over her head. She’d have to be careful; only break noses with the right fist, etc. Her stomach growled loudly.  _Shut your ass, I’m busy._ It was hard for her to eat these days, but she should probably make the effort soon. Since she had gotten back, she never had an appetite and she always felt like she didn’t have the time to focus on feeding anyway. There was too much to do and too many people to avoid. Nothing really felt good anyway, so it wasn’t like she enjoyed food much. Also, when she did eat, she had a bad habit of drunkenly binging at food carts, and that tended to have…unpleasant side effects. The ubiquitous Halal carts of New York City were both a blessing and a curse. Most of her calories came from alcohol and the odd hallucinogen, although they certainly made up for their lack of nutrition with other benefits. You can take the girl out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of the girl, she supposed.

Truth be told, she drank enough that she should have kept more weight on, but the amount of booze that actually ended up being processed by her system was highly variable from day to day. She didn’t get the chance to rest very often either. Not that sleep came easily or stayed long. In much the same way that the booze gave her calories that usually ended up in a gutter or public toilet, it also gave her short, glorious stretches of unconsciousness sans REM cycles. There were large dark circles under her eyes and her skin was ghostly pale. She was pale naturally but she looked sickly now. She supposed that she must have looked like a heroin addict with good genetics. She didn’t really care though. The changes to her appearance were hardly the worst thing that had happened to her.

All of their faces floated to the top of her memory. All of the people who were gone. Lindsea and her brothers and Mason and Dougie and Lyle. Lindsea and Littler Brother were dead. She didn’t know where the rest were. For what must have been the thousandth time, she told herself that she would find them all again. Hell, Lindsea being dead hadn’t stopped them from talking, even if she hadn’t visited in months. She wasn’t actually sure if she believed that she’d be able to find anyone anymore, or if anyone even wanted to see her again. Rose certainly couldn’t blame anyone if they didn’t. She hadn’t been the easiest chick to get along with, even discounting all the murders. Grief and guilt welled up inside of her, as it often had since she’d gotten back. Grieving for people that you weren’t sure were dead was fucking awful. There was always hope, the little bastard, never letting her move on. Still, she didn’t really want it to go. Not yet, anyway.

 Glad that she was alone, she rested her forehead against the bathroom mirror. She drew in a deep breath and involuntarily sobbed a little as she exhaled. She realized, admittedly with some relief, that she was too dehydrated to cry. Rose turned the faucet on and drank some tepid water from her cupped hands. They would make fun of her if they could see her. They’d make fun and then they’d throw their arms around her and say comforting things and they’d get high together and then they’d go back to playing Cops and Terrorists: Turbo Edition and hilarity and truly outstanding acts of property damage would ensue. A tiny laugh escaped as she pictured it. She reached out for the bear to steel herself. Well, more like  _in_ for the bear. She saw it so clearly in her head. The bear was always with her. Both with her and within her. It gave her courage when she needed it, the chatty bastard. At least nothing could take that from her. She needed it a lot these days. _‘Til death do us part. Heh, no, it’ll be much longer; I promise._ Rose let out a short laugh and sniffled. _That doesn’t sound so bad. Sure doesn’t._ The other members of The Zodiac Order said that she was a shaman, or at least Bright had, not that she knew exactly what that meant for her. They had both been on acid when he had explained. "Something something, shaper of the new world, something, life energy, something something." A year ago she would have made fun of the idea, but that was before a whole lot of crazy shit had happened. Balking at it now just seemed kind of silly. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on her other senses. She inhaled deeply and was silent, trying to take in all of the smells and sounds of the room. She could swear she smelled a hint of cooked meat. For a wonderful and all too brief moment she was back in a snowy forest. She felt an urge to drop on to all fours, but she decided against it. This wasn’t that place. _Good for you, we almost died how many times there? At least one time too few. Stop it._ Rose opened her eyes and straightened up. Her head had cleared suddenly, as it often did when she entered that headspace. _I think they call this mood whiplash._

Now was not the time for angst anyway. This was the first mission she had been given since the disaster in England. Rose needed to get her fucking head in the game. She stepped out of the bathroom and into the main area of her shitty room at the Neptune Hotel. An urge overcame her. Rose turned to look back at the bathroom mirror. Everything in this room was fucking gross. The glass had been dirty when she got here and there was a vertical crack running through the center. _Aw, why the fuck not? We’re not getting our deposit back anyway. Stop talking to yourself. Glass houses, buddy. Glass. Houses._  Rose concentrated and visualized a giant fist. Serenity and calm flowed into her as she made a small flicking gesture at the mirror. The glass exploded as the frame was smashed inwards, like it had been struck by a cannon ball. Breaking glass was one of Rose’s favorite sounds and she enjoyed how easy it was to do that. A lot of espers couldn’t do that, not even most of the other teleks. She allowed herself to bask in that fact for a moment. She was good. She was great even. _Shaper of the new world._ Of course, there were a ton of things that she couldn’t do. Not yet, anyway. _One day._

She recited the plan to herself while she finished getting dressed, being careful not to trip on the mess of bottles that decorated the floor. Meet two members of The Zodiac Order at the bar in Alphabet City on 14th street between avenues B and C. Stick together and make your way to Pittsburgh. Liberate the target and return them to the compound. Wait for further instructions or don’t, but we’d kind of rather that you did. Instructions from the Zodiac Order tended to take a very hands-off approach to the nitty gritty of planning. The Zodiac Order were the good guys, near as she could reckon anyway, but damned if they weren’t a giant pack of hippies.

Before she left, she checked herself once more in an intact mirror on the wall. Black shirt, black denim vest, black jeans tucked into black combat boots, and a black belt. Rose sadly reflected on the fact that she potentially had at least 5 more years of mourning, but she had to admit that she liked how the look made her hair color pop. Gotta find the little silver linings and all, especially when you couldn’t find the things that actually fucking mattered. She pocketed her wallet, burner phone, brass knuckles, and lock picks, before shouldering her backpack. A rolled up sleeping bag was strapped to the top of it but there wasn’t actually very much inside. Just some medical supplies and other basic bullshit. Members of the Zodiac Order had to travel light and could never assume that they would have shelter for the night or take intact facial bones for granted.

She noticed that one beer on the nightstand was still half full and quickly drained it. She couldn’t taste the alcohol. The peace she’d found earlier was gone with the last of her booze. She stood there for a moment, swaying slightly and looking down at the empty bottle. Rage flared up inside of her, like it had just been waiting to spring out again, and she threw the bottle into the mirror, shattering both. She was tired of looking at herself and talking to herself and of bottles running out and of shitty motel rooms. She strode out into the muggy July afternoon without bothering to close the door or check out. Surely some enterprising homeless person would appreciate the access to an air conditioner, if only for a few hours. Rose certainly didn’t enjoy the heat. It gave her that gross booze sweat. She realized that her thoughts would start to race again if she didn’t get a grip on herself, so she focused on the gig at hand.

The pair she was meeting were both more experienced members of The Order. This gig seemed a little bit on the easy side. The gigs out in the middle of nowhere,  _that’s_ the ones where shit got the realest fastest. The ones where The Shop or Abraxis or whatever could call in the attack choppers and black ops shit without worrying about prying eyes. Maybe they wanted to see if she could still fight? Maybe they figured that she couldn’t fuck this one up? Maybe they just needed a bullet shield? There was no denying that Rose was pretty fucking hard to kill. Whatever. They needed her so she would be there. She wasn’t fucking useless. She was still a fucking tank. If she didn’t like how shit was going she could just fly away or rip everyone to shreds. Maybe she wouldn’t need to do that though. Tara had gone out of her way (which was, generally, not very far for a psychokinetic) to assure her that her temporary companions were both nice people. That had made Rose feel more than a bit patronized, but she understood the concern.

She sort of wished that Tara hadn’t contacted her, though she genuinely did like the woman. She never responded to her messages either. What could she even say? I’m sorry that I didn’t die; I wish I had? What good would that do? Rose hadn’t been able to face the other members of the Zodiac Order after England, especially not Tara. There was no way they really meant what they were saying to her; they were just scared that she’d freak out and pop in an inconvenient place again or something. They shouldn’t have worried; Rose had no intention of being around anyone for too long anyway, much less people who might make her pop. She’d been on the road ever since she was healed up enough for them to let her leave, going from safe house to safe house. She did her best to improve and maintain (or in several cases, implement) their security systems and taking care of odd tasks, such as delivering drugs, creating diversions to take the heat off, and so on. Thank fuck they were polite enough to accept her help. If she didn’t have something to do she would lose her mind. _And we wouldn’t want that, would we? What does that mean? Nothing._ When she received the orders to head to New York City for a gig, she was equal parts apprehensive and relieved. It felt good to have a purpose, however temporary. Maybe she was just itching for a fight against the Shop again. A good fight always made her feel a bit more alive. In any case, her two contacts were named JJ Decay and Clara Cyte. JJ Decay was a four star pyro and three star entro. Apparently her real name was Jessica Jimenez (she’d heard that Bright’s kids usually took their mom’s surname so that other espers saw them as equals or some hippy bullshit like that), but Rose supposed that JJ Decay was more appropriate with those powers. Clara Cyte (which rhymed with “parasite”) was a five star psyker, two star osmo, and one star scryer. Rose had smiled a bit at that, after someone had explained to her what an osmo was. At least she was never too low to appreciate a good double entendre.

She was apprehensive as she lurched down the street, towards the J station. A blue, a green, and a red. Just like back in the beginning. This green’s ability was even sorta similar to Littler Brother. He’d been so good at psyking. _It’s going to be different this time. All of it? We’ll see_. The walk wasn’t very long and the Halsey J station was within sight soon. She stepped into an intersection without looking as an approaching car blared its horn at her. Less than foot away from her it bounced back, as though it had hit a wall, and slammed into the car behind it. People were getting out of the vehicles and shouting. She quickly continued across the street, barely even noticing. Walking in a straight line was hard.

“Good luck and be safe!” Rose pretended not to hear her. She felt the channel close after a few seconds.  _Aw…just fuck off. Just forget about me_. She struggled to keep her eyes focused.  _Just let me disappear._


	4. Thursday, July 23rd, 2015. 8:12 p.m.

That’s alright, I'll be at the bar like I always am

Thinking of you and how much better it is to be here with my friends

The assholes the drunks and the whores just like myself

\- _Koffin Kats “At The Bar”_

 

In Alphabet City, JJ and Clara were drinking in a bar called Otto’s Shrunken Head. Patrons were milling around as someone called DJ Spange played the kind of punk rock that kept the bulk of the yuppies away. A couple of tourists were slowing putting in a complicated drink order, clearly overwhelmed by the puffer fish lanterns, and tiki idols, and other assorted kitsch. The murder was plain on the bartender’s face. There was a small stage in the back with tables and chairs arranged around the room. Otto’s had live music and truly awful comedians on a frequent basis but no one was performing at the moment. It was Clara’s favorite bar in New York. JJ preferred Grand Victory, mostly due to the fact that she had a crush on the red headed bartender who was always there, but she still knew more of the patrons at Otto’s than Clara did. Go figure. As JJ chatted up everyone around them, Clara was having a private conversation with one of her associates.

“So, how exactly will we know who she is?” Tara hadn’t actually been forthcoming with a physical description. Abilities, substance preferences, and temperament had been prioritized over that. Apparently the woman they were meeting was exceptionally powerful, but in a bit of a delicate state. In the same way that superheated C-4 could be described as such. Usually Clara wouldn’t need to be told, but the clientele was a bit more mixed than your average bar, in a manner of speaking.

“Um, she’s pretty big, green hair, lots of mods. She’s kinda scary.” Lovely. She’d fit right in with the two of them. “You can tell when someone is one of us, right?”

“Of course.”

“Ok, I don’t remember if it works this way but, her…aura, or whatever, should be big.”

“How big?”

"Big…Look, um, don’t get mad if she goes off on you. She’s kinda fucked up but she’s not a bad person." _Lovely..._

“Copy.”

“Hey, how did this bar get its name?” JJ asked the bartender.

In a tone of voice that implied that she would _not_ be explaining further, she replied, “The owners named it that.” and moved to the other end of the bar.

Clara supposed that, when you have a knuckle tattoo that reads “MEOW,” you generally didn’t want to spend too much time answering questions. She noted that she had been shorter with JJ than with the other patrons. Couldn’t say she blamed her too much, JJ had made a mess here more than once before. Clara didn’t want to exert herself too much before the meeting, but she was fond of Lockstep and decided to check in. 

“Bad night, Lockstep?”

“Don’t let her throw up on the bar again. Last time was fucking ridiculous, alright? I know she’s your friend and shit, but I’m not a fucking janitor.” Lockstep’s smoker’s voice was sharp, but Clara had anticipated that. 

“Copy.” She sipped her mai tai and turned to her boisterous companion.

JJ was sitting up in her stool and emphatically gesturing at a guy named Tall Dan, shouting “Pussy and titties were out, man! Pussy and titties were out!” Clara would be a happy woman on the day when JJ decided to put that particular story to bed. Clara tapped her friend on the shoulder and gave her what JJ had long ago dubbed “the quit yer shit face.” JJ broke off the story and gave Clara her attention.

“Who are we saving?” That was the great thing about Otto’s. As long as you kept it down, you could talk about these things out in the open and no one would even bat an eye, especially during Punk Rock Happy Hour or Dark Water Tuesdays. Some of the bolder tourists might try to take a picture with you though.

“Let’s find out.” JJ stuffed the neck of her beer bottle into her mouth and held it with her teeth. She pulled a crumpled envelope out of an inside pocket of her trench coat, tore it in half, and unfolded the letter inside with a business-like flick of her wrist. The overall silliness was accentuated by the glow sticks that were hanging off of her eyebrow rings, which had been plucked from other people’s drinks. JJ studied the letter for a moment before her eyes grew wide. “…Shit.” She said, around the bottle. Clara rolled her eyes and sighed lightly.

“C’mon, who is it?...and take that thing out of your mouth.”

“It’s fuckin’ Sirius,” JJ replied, putting the bottle back on the bar. Clara noticed the bartender rolling her eyes at the two of them. She didn’t blame the poor woman in the slightest. JJ was a nonsense elemental, much as she loved her.

“I KNOW it’s fuckin’ serious, that’s why I’m asking, ya moron.”

“NO. I mean it’s SIRIUS.” Clara stared at JJ for a moment before it hit her.

“Oh…OH! Gotcha.” Clara grabbed the letter away from JJ and quickly read the contents before giving it back. Clara took a long, slow, drink to calm her nerves. If Sirius actually needed help, that explained why they needed a heavy. This was already starting to feel a bit intense for Clara. The Institute had been trying to get their hands on him for years. God only knew what they’d be up against on this gig. “What’s wrong with—wait, is that Rose?” Despite her apprehension, Clara smiled at the woman in question. The prospect of mortal peril was no excuse for rudeness.

“Where?” JJ was busy upturning her beer. She decided to order another before bothering to look. One day Clara as going to draw up JJ’s Hierarchy of Needs and compare it to Maslow’s. It would probably employ more colorful language than his.

“The brick shithouse with the two-thousand-yard stare that just walked through the door.” Clara squinted a bit as she gave the woman at the door the Once Over. Tara hadn’t been kidding. Maybe she hadn’t needed a physical description after all. She did look like the kind of person who would throw cops around, telekinesis or no. Looked like she had more than enough juice for it too.

Following Clara’s lead, JJ smiled and waved at the tall, intense-looking, green-haired, woman who had just entered. Clara, Tara, and JJ had all agreed beforehand that it would be in everyone’s best interest to be welcoming to their temporary companion. JJ was always very friendly and Clara was exceptionally charming, if she did say so herself, but saying it out loud prior to meeting had seemed important. You could never assume that JJ had a firm grasp on etiquette, unless it came to buying and selling guns or drugs or sex. To her credit, she was quite good at that.

Rose saw them, but didn’t return either gesture. She wordlessly showed the bouncer a presumably fake or stolen ID, solemnly approached the bar, and took a stool next to Clara. Her eyes were glassy and, even in the dim light of the bar, Clara could see that it looked like someone had used her for target practice. Under different circumstances, visible proof of an esper’s resilience would have been reassuring, but the fact that they apparently needed someone who collected bullet wounds like post cards wasn’t making this gig seem any less intimidating.

Introductions were made and names were put to faces. JJ Decay’s was quite pretty. It was heart-shaped and often, as it did now, bore a playful smirk. She had a wide nose, full lips, large, amber eyes, and a slightly low hairline. Her figure was slender and somewhat boyish, but she wasn’t nearly as boxy as her coat made her seem. The right half of her short, charged, hair was black and the left was royal blue, although a hint of brown was showing in her roots. Cherries were tattooed behind both of her ears and each eyebrow had a captive ring that aligned with her cheekbones. Her only visible clothing, besides her oversized leather trench coat, was a burgundy t-shirt that just peeked out from behind her lapels and leather ranger boots. Clara envied JJ’s ability to conceal weapons under that coat. She managed to make the multitude of holsters that adorned her torso and hips both functional and fashionable too. JJ liked to be a bit flashy, as is the general wont of pyros. As one of Jeremy Bright’s many, many, almost worryingly many, children, she had been in The Order her entire life. As a result, she was generally laid back, had a very warm attitude towards mind-altering substances, and lacked certain skills that most people acquired in school, such as writing essays about things that were aggressively boring and being unnecessarily cruel for fun. She did have a knack for necessary cruelty though.

Clara Cyte herself was short, full-figured, and muscular, with a bubblegum pink pixie haircut. She had an upturned nose and oval face with a small mouth. She wore a white tank top, a knee-length plaid skirt with a bondage belt, and 14-eye, oxblood rub-off Grinders. Line art of Yggdrasil was tattooed on her right shoulder and her entire left leg sported an elaborate tattoo of a coral reef, with vibrant coloration and realistic, if densely packed, flora and fauna. The water terminated at garter-belt level, but most people weren’t lucky enough to see that. The bottom wasn’t visible in those boots, which was a shame because that’s where all of the really cool shellfish were. Not that there was really such a thing as an uncool shellfish, as far as she was concerned. Prior to becoming an esper, she had been preparing to enter medical school. She’d still gone on to be a doctor, just not in the way that she had anticipated. Clara had joined The Zodiac Order five years ago when she had been given Green at an Ayn Sof party. She and JJ had met that night and had been close friends and partners in crime ever since. To think, she had used to use that expression figuratively. How very silly of her.

Rose looked like the kind of person who would have been a regular: All piercings and tight black clothing, with an almost palpable aura of alcoholism, and several tattoos that had apparently been done by a variety of artists of highly disparate skill levels. Her left arm had a full length, and anatomically correct, tattoo of the bones therein, from intermediate phalanges to scapula. Her right medial forearm had a tattoo of a hunting knife. A pin up-style mermaid with purple hair and a machine gun decorated the lateral side. A tattoo of bloody barbed wire wound its way around her inferior brachium. It looked like the artist had made a point of trying to make it look like it was digging into her skin. Her right bicep had a truly amateurish tattoo on it; it looked like a stick and poke of the words “You’re going to regret this…” There were words on the left side of her neck, but her hair covered most of them. “Spiel mir” was just visible. Clara noticed that Rose appeared to be slightly favoring her left side and there was a slight bulge on that side of her chest. She’s been warned that their companion was rather evasive and had a habit of running away from people, so she opted to just take a look by herself. A knife wound, a fight that had ended almost as soon as it had started, and a bad patch job. Clara would have to fix the last one at some point.

Clara handed JJ some cash and told her to run next door and buy some Chinese food for the three of them. Afterwards, Clara assured Rose that the drinks were on her tonight, which was also something that Tara had suggested. The phrase “before she keels over” had been employed. Rose opted for some kind of vodka-based fishbowl cocktail that came in a mug stylized like a volcano with an alcohol moat surrounding it, complete with a flaming shot in the crater. A tad pricy, but Clara was fine with that. Rose looked like she needed the nutrients from the mixers and psychokinetics of her caliber usually didn’t hurt for cash anyway. Hell, she had been bilking people of their beer money for years before she’d been awakened. After JJ returned and Clara ensured that everyone had a source of ethanol, they got down to brass tacks.

“As I was telling Cyte, the mission is for Sirius.” JJ said confidently, taking a bold chug from yet another bottle of the worst beer the bar had to offer. JJ always went with bottom shelf. She said it was a stylistic choice.

“I _know_ that it’s for serious.” Rose said defensively, leaning forward slightly. “I know that my track record isn’t great, but I do take these things seriously.” Well, that wasn’t the start Clara had been hoping for. She felt a pang of regret for not taking the lead on the discussion. Clara could summarize a forty-page research paper in one hundred words. JJ would take that long to describe how to dial 911.

“No, no, no. Not that kind of serious.” Said JJ, soothingly and with a smile.

Clara put her head in her hands and heaved a sigh. “JJ, Jesus Christ.”

“No, I mean Sirius as in the dog star, not serious as in shit is on.” JJ nodded, clearly expected to be understood. JJ was the absolute poster child for the psychologist’s fallacy which, upon reflection, may have been partially Clara’s fault. Rose looked from one to the other, waiting for clarification. She spoke up before Clara could say anything.

“…Is that a code name or are we talking about the literal star?” Rose asked. She sounded sleepy and slightly irritated. JJ finished adding another glow stick to her left eyebrow ring before answering.

“Code name! Sorry!” She was still wearing a laid back smile. 

“…Ok, well is Sirius a _person_ , the place where we _find_ our target? _Who or what is Sirius_?” Rose asked with unconcealed impatience.

“The struggle is serious, y’all!” called a tall, thin, man at the other end of the bar.

“Dan, shut the fuck up!” Clara called back, irately. Clara read Rose’s surface thoughts. She was starting to get mad because she couldn’t taste the alcohol and the fact that JJ wasn’t elaborating more was making Rose wonder if she was acting stupid. _I can’t even fucking do THIS? Are you shitting me?_ Insecure, impatient, emotionally withdrawn, and aggressive. Not uncommon for a telek, actually. Clara put a hand on JJ’s shoulder before things could get worse. 

“I think it may be best if I took over the task of informing our new friend, JJ.” JJ snapped her fingers with both hands and pointed at Clara before nodding in agreement. 

Clara, with some minor help from JJ, told Rose what they knew, the value of which grew progressively more useless as they drank round after round. Sirius was a three star psychokinetic and master of scrying. He could remotely view places that were incredibly far away and, for whatever reason, his visions of the future always pointed the way to captured espers; the instance of their capture, where they were, or how they would be saved. His powers weren’t terribly well-suited for combat, but they were invaluable for setting up rescue missions and strategizing. Additionally, if he had ever read your mind or telepathically communicated with you, he could pinpoint your exact location, even from hundreds, some said thousands, of miles away. He could even remotely use psychokinesis on the people he tracked. Rose seemed to appreciate the poetry of his codename, especially after a few more drinks. Admittedly it must have lost a bit of said poetry when JJ, who was clearly approaching a blackout, told Rose for something like the tenth time, “It’s cuz he’s like a fuggin’ rescue dog, d’ja geddit?”

Rose was laconic and far more concerned with alcohol than small talk but quick, periodic, glances into her head revealed that, despite her earlier irritation, she didn’t dislike the pair of them, but she apparently had a bit of a problem with invasive, negative thoughts. She suspected that Rose might have enjoyed their company if her headspace wasn’t such a mess. Occasionally, she would catch a sense of intense grief, which was invariably followed by a particularly large swallow of alcohol. There were also occasional flickers of hope, but those were followed by even larger swallows. Red flags, yes, but not uncommon ones among members of The Zodiac Order. Still, that wasn’t exactly what you wanted to see in your team mates.

The details of the mission itself were a bit stranger than usual. The letter was from Sirius himself and it concerned his own capture, which would happen in less than a week. Apparently, he had seen the letter in one of his visions and had decided to just go with it rather than use the normal channels. She’d heard that about him; he was extremely hesitant to do anything that contradicted his visions, even if it was just a minor detail. According to the man himself, he would be apprehended by The Institute and brought to a facility in Dallas. Rose was skeptical about rescuing him instead of just preventing the capture, or at least that was how Clara chose to interpret “Fuckin’ what? The fuckin’ bullfuck izzat shit? I’d beat a motherfucker wiv another motherfucker if they pulled that mess. Can we get more egg rolls?” but Clara knew that this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Clara gave JJ some more money for food and watched to make sure that she opened the door before trying to walk through it. The next few minutes were spent in silence. Rose was feeling shy, but breaks in conversation didn’t bother Clara and they were both drunk anyway. JJ was back within five minutes. Rose seemed to find her voice again when she returned.

“Oh, n’they toll me we were hittin’ Pitshcbur.” Rose had drunk three of the fishbowl cocktails.

“You’re not allowed to let that one puke on the bar either. I mean it.”

“Loud an’ clear, boss lady.”

“Oh yeah. In case you were captured before we could meet up.” JJ was poking herself in the cheek with a plastic cocktail sword, either not listening or not capable of responding. Being the only functional drunk at the bar was tough sometimes. Clara was pretty sure that she had paid off Lockstep’s rent in tips at this point. Rose gave an understanding, if greatly exaggerated, nod.

“Huh. Well, I do get killed a lot. Like, a _lot._ Ah, mean…not, like, killed DEAD jus’ _real_ hard, yanno?” _No, lady, I do not…_

Clara was willing to blame that poor choice of words on the alcohol and, being more lucid than JJ, took on the task of elaborating on the matter of why there were acting as a cure, rather than a preventative measure. “It was back in 2009. Sirius had a vision that he was going to be captured by The Shop and his cell thought that they could stop it. They loaded up on weapons, medicine, and supplies, and worked out an exit strategy.” She checked in to make sure Rose was actually listening. Surprisingly, she was and had already worked out the next part. “Everyone but him got killed and he was captured anyway. Sirius is supposed to be a smooth talker though, even when he’s on Hear No Evil. After a month, he managed to convince a couple of guards to help him escape. I dunno how. One guard was killed. The other took Red, joined The Order, and is stationed in Scotland somewhere, I think.” 

“I ‘ink I know which ‘cility yer talkin’ ‘bout. It was prolly the one I was in, in t’sousand foureen.” Rose slurred. If she was at all impressed or surprised, she sure wasn’t showing it, but Clara wasn’t sure if she’d show the appropriate response to being set on fire right now.

Clara smiled sympathetically. “Oh, I’ve been there too. That’s actually our secret weapon...Well, one of ‘em anyway.” She couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. Clara was no Sirius, but there were advantages to being a scryer. Clara was reaching the limits of her ability to speak properly, but damned if she wasn’t going to try to hold it together.

“Gonna case it? Don’t we ‘ave…’ave t’be close fer ‘at?” Maybe Rose was more functional than Clara was giving her credit for. Actually, the fact that she was even awake supported that.

“Yeah, but don’t worry: we don’t have to be right outside of it. Anywhere within a mile of the building should be just fine. Let’s get outta here though. JJ passed out a few minutes ago.” Passed out with her face in one of the empty fishbowls, in fact. “Be a dear and help me get her out of here. You look like a strong girl. Yo, Bryan! Can we use The Muff Cave tonight?”

She aimed the last question at a man with an unkempt beard and curly, flyaway hair who had been taking hits from what looked like a bottle of throat spray all night. Apparently it was a marijuana tincture he made himself called The Green Dragon. He had a bit of a reputation for being what JJ reffered to as a “weedomancer.” He made some incomprehensible, but seemingly affirmative, noises in response and tossed Clara a key. Rose picked JJ up gently, cradling her like a child, and they made their way outside. For someone wh had consumed at least an entire bottle of vodka, Rose maintained her balance well. Good to know. After a short (and thanks to Clara using The Push on the driver, free) cab ride, they arrived at their destination. The Muff Cave was actually a small practice space that also functioned as a party space and short term squat. There were empty bottles strewn across the floor, a drum set, a litter box, and a ratty couch with mysterious stains on the cushions. Rose lowered JJ onto the couch, taking care to place her head as far from the stains as possible. She picked a spot on the floor, kicked some bottles out of the way, and unrolled her sleeping bag. Luckily, Clara remembered to take off JJ’s coat and remove her belts and holsters before retrieving a couple of sleeping bags from behind the drum kit. Clara wondered if Rose had noticed that JJ weighted more than she should have. She suspected not. She unzipped a sleeping bag and threw it over JJ before setting one down for herself. As she got inside, Rose spoke for the first time since leaving the bar.

“Clara?”

“Yeah?”

“Y’ever been in the baschment ‘a tha place?”

“No, why?”

“Don’ g’down there, ‘kay?” She looked like she was trying to say something important, as drunks often do when talking about feelings and whatnot.

“Why? Are their ghosts?” Clara joked, smiling at Rose.

“Yes,” Rose replied, with deathly seriousness. “An’ brain sch…schpiders.” With that, she turned away from Clara and went quiet.

She stared, wide-eyed, at Rose’s back for what felt like a long time…What in the fuck did that mean? She considered just taking a look to see what Rose was talking about, but she was just too tired and it was probably just rambling anyway. She decided that she and JJ shouldn’t meet new team mates in bars anymore.


	5. Friday, July 24th, 2015. 2:47 a.m.

I want to take you over, over now

And disappear

I want to see you nothing, nothing now

Disappear

- _TSOL “Disappear”_

 

Lockstep watched the three stooges go and turned her attention to the magnekinetic at the bar who was utterly convinced that no one knew he was an esper. She briefly wondered how many times she had done this over the years and thanked her lucky stars that Clara Cyte had camped long enough for her to get this one good and liquored up. She had undercharged him by about fifty buck so far, the way she was making his drinks. She’d only had to Push him to drink more a few times too. The more she got him to drink, the easier the Pushing become. It was glorious. There was really nothing that wasn’t perfect about alcohol.

“You should have another shot.” She said jovially, smiling at this piece of shit the way that only a veteran bartender could. She wondered if he had killed anyone she’d met. He must have been following at least one of those three. Came in about twenty minutes after the one with green hair and paid a little too much attention to them all night. Didn’t know any of the regulars. Didn’t ask the pass question. Didn’t think twice about how much Lockstep loved making eye contact with patrons. Why shouldn’t she like it though? It kept people honest.

“Uh, no I gotta, gotta, um…get outta here…” His eyes weren’t quite focusing. Unless they were on her tits, then they were as focused as a fucking laser. She poured a shot of 151 for him and a shot of water from a Van Gogh bottle for herself. No mind trickery, she was on camera after all. Nothing suspicious at all about sharing a shot with a patron. “No, I really sh-shouldn’t. I gotta go.”

 _I know you do, asshole_. “Come oooooooon.” she playfully chided him, gazing into those big, brown eyes of his.  He obediently drank with her, almost missing his mouth entirely.  She would have cut off a normal patron about seven shots ago but, as a patriot, it was her duty to give Shop goons a little something extra for their service. This one had to be relatively new. Maybe twenty-five years old, blonde crewcut, fit. Probably a former marine. He hadn’t stuck out that much to the other patrons; Zapp’s got its fair share of squares, suits, and douchebags. He was just another guy in a polo shirt and shorts. But then, all espers stick out when you can use osmosis. Not a common power, but the owners had taken pains to make sure that their employees had certain talents. That’s why the bar had survived all these years. That’s why it was the safest place in New York for members of The Order to drink. That’s why this poor, arrogant, fuck didn’t stand a chance the second he walked in. She put the bottle of 151 on the bar and looked into his eyes again. He almost looked harmless.

“I’m going to go count the register and you are going to take a few more hits from this bottle while I’m over there.” His guard was totally down. He didn’t even realize what was happening. Why should he? She was just being nice. Lockstep was always nice. She took a long pull from the bottle of water to set the tone before putting it away and proceeded to take her time counting the cash. In retrospect, she should have stipulated that he not puke on the bar. C’est la vie. There was only one other patron left. The two of them shared a knowing smile. Tall Dan giggled slightly. She walked back to the Shop esper, who was resting his chin on the bar. The bar was, thankfully, stomach acid free. She wondered if she had Tall Dan to thank for that. Dude was a bit of a good luck charm.

“Hey, hon.” She said cheerfully. “The way you’ve been spending tonight, you should make it rain. Really, really, hard.” They shared a laugh. She didn’t need to Push for that one at all. Getting drunk espers to use their powers was like shooting fish in a barrel and he was assuming that she meant that stupid bullshit with the dollar bills. Thought he was being clever too. Making a private little joke to himself. _Enjoy it, kid._ Lockstep walked over to the supply room. The occasional hit of booze had kept the headaches and nosebleeds away until now, but she needed a bit of a boost. With the door shut behind her, she pulled a wooden box off of one of the shelves. She removed a bag of plastic monkeys and lifted the false bottom to reveal a small mirror, an index card, and a bag of cocaine. Just one line; that was all she needed. She quickly cut one, snorted it though a rolled up dollar bill, and replaced the box and its contents, She waited for the pressure in her temples to subside and wiped a bit of blood away from her nose. Tonight had been harder than normal. Two new esper patrons and that chick with the trench coat, and Lockstep had been the only one working the bar. At least her gift might grow soon, the way she was using it.

A moment later she walked back into the bar, feeling energized and ready for action. No one really knew why coke gave you more juice, but it sure as hell did. Thank god for small favors. It was pouring outside now. Perfect. The roads would be fucked. It was for the greater good though, so whatever.

“I gotta close up, hon. Walk me to the subway?” He nodded groggily. One thing you could always say for military types: Shop or no, they were damned helpful. She looked up at Tall Dan. He was grinning from ear to ear. The three of them walked out into the rain a few minutes later. Two with umbrellas, one with no long-term memory. Lockstep wondered if he even remembered summoning this weather. Probably not, it wasn’t like it was out of season or anything. They walked a few blocks West. Visibility was horrible. Really, a terrible night to drive. As they approached the intersection of 14th and 1st, the Don’t Walk sign was flashing.

“Weird, how there are no cars out tonight.” She commented, raising her voice to be heard over the ever-present traffic. He looked up, visibly surprised, and made a noise of concurrence. “Psst.” The kid turned his head to meet her gaze. “Keep going straight.” She and Tall Dan turned South. Shop goon kept going West. After a beat, Lockstep heard the screech of tires and a short series of crashes.

Tall Dan started laughing. “You shoulda told him to look both ways.”  She laughed and smirked.

“He shoulda tipped better.”


	6. Friday, July 24th, 2015. The Worst Time of The Day

I was looking into the mirror

To see a little bit clearer

The rottenness and evil in me

\- _Harvey Danger “Flagpole Sitta”_

 

Rose was standing waist-deep in a pond, trying to catch fish with her hands. She wanted salmon. She wanted it very badly. Thick snow blanketed the ground and covered the pine trees. It was so beautiful here, even if it was hard to survive. She’d have to go soon; the others would need her. They’d be mad if it happened again.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Her favorite voice rang out from behind her; a mixture of shock, concern, and reproach, as it had been so many times before. Sweet thing; she worries too much. Rose smiled and started to turn. She hadn’t seen her in an eternity. A hand shot out of the water and grabbed her by the neck. Ice crystals started to form in her throat and stab into her flesh as she choked. The hand pulled her under the water.

 

Rose was standing in a hallway. Like a hospital but so, so much worse. A charred corpse lay in front of her. Dark, blue, viscous, slime was welling up between the tiles in the floor. She couldn’t let it touch her. She didn’t want to lose herself. She belonged to  _herself_  damn it, no one else. She started to run. It wouldn’t help, but she had to do something. The corpse lifted its head and reached out a hand to her.

“Wait! Please, don’t leave me!”  Rose stopped and turned back.              

“I already did!” So many times before. Maybe there was a way to forgive? Even she didn’t deserve this. Maybe she could change her mind about everything. Rose bent down to pick her up. Maybe he had a chance now.

“Should’ve learned your lesson by now.” It whispered maliciously as it grabbed Rose’s face and dug its blackened, fleshless, fingers into her eyes.

               

Rose was standing in a ruined building. There were people all around her. She was holding a small, orange and white, candy in her hand.

“Du verdienst es.” She looked up at the one who had spoken. He was deathly pale and smiling. Smiling too wide. His eyes were black, sunken, pits. Bloody fissures were running through his skin. It looked like he had been ripped apart and reassembled. All of them looked like that. She shouldn’t take the candy. It wasn’t what it was supposed to be. “Nein?” He shrugged and smiled even wider. “Bis bald.”

               

Rose was lying on the floor of the Muff Cave. Her head was pounding, her chest hurt, and her throat was unbearably dry. _Good morning, Ms. Klinge._ She looked to her left. JJ Decay was gently snoring on the couch. She looked to her right. Clara Cyte was curled up in a sleeping bag. Rose reached for her vest and retrieved her flask from the inside pocket. She suppressed a relieved sigh as her fingers closed around it. That was real. This was real. This was what she needed. She unscrewed the top and took a hit. This was what she needed. This was real. This was what she needed. She lay on the floor, repeating those two thoughts to herself. She wasn’t sure if she was referencing wakefulness or the booze and, frankly, she wasn’t sure if that was even a meaningful distinction anymore.  _Like I even fucking care. Sleep more. If I can. Try. Later._ She felt faint disappointment in herself. That would feel worse later. It usually did.

She could probably stop drinking if she felt like it, but why would she feel like it? Why did anyone ever feel like being sober? _They don’t, I think._ She crawled to her backpack and pulled out a can of tomato juice. This would keep her from wondering about last night. Did she do anything wrong? Had she said anything wrong? She didn’t want to think about it. She couldn’t remember, but she was that sure she must have done  _something_  wrong. This would fix that, for now. There were worse ways to start the day. There were worse things to start the day on. She opened the can and poured some of the vodka in.

When she drank, it didn’t spill. Not the like the first time she woke up after England. She had been offered water. The guy hadn’t thought about it beforehand. He was trying to be nice.  _It didn’t hurt, but l…_ No. No. No. She pushed the memory away, focusing on every detail of the here and now. That was far away. That wasn’t now and it didn’t matter anyway. There was no hole there for it to spill out of now. There hadn’t been for a long time and she’d healed fantastically, so it was like it hadn’t happened at all. _You were really hurt; it’s okay if you need to talk about it._ She immediately regretted thinking about that; she didn’t want to think about who she wanted to talk about it with. _It’s okay to talk about that too. Not now. I understand._ She couldn’t lose her shit right now. _You won’t, just breathe._ She was okay now. _That’s right, baby._ This was what she needed. _For now, and that’s okay, but only for now._ She had to be okay so she was going to be okay, and that was the end of it. She was okay.

Wait, that wasn’t true. She put the can down and focused on it. The familiar, comforting, feeling of her power flowed into her as she carefully levitated it to eye level. She half thought that she could just barely make out the faintest traces of blue light surrounding her, like an aura. It was probably just the darkness and the hangover playing tricks on her eyes though. Fine Manipulation, they called this trick. She knew a lot of the tricks. They were the only things that consistently felt good. Hands free, she brought it to her lips and drank from it. 

 _This_  was what she needed. This and nothing else.

 


	7. Friday, July 24th, 2015. 10 a.m.

My blood is 100 proof

\- _Gang Green “Alcohol”_

 

A few hours later, the sun was up and Rose had a gentle buzz going. She was splayed out on top of her sleeping bag, eyes closed and still trying to remember if she’d done anything to piss anyone off last night. By this point she was pretty sure that she hadn’t, but it was hard to focus. She wasn’t sure how long she had laid there, but she wasn’t going anywhere until she felt well enough to speak. No one had moved very much yet anyway, so it’s not like she was being rushed. She had a favor to ask and it would probably be best to ask while everyone was in repair mode. _So they don’t have the energy to argue? Yes. Clever girl._

Deep, even, breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Focus on your body. Pain is transient. Don’t move until you’re sure that you can. _You’re not going to throw up. You’re not going to throw up. You’re not going to throw up._ Say it until you believe it. Believe it until it’s true. Eventually, Rose opened her eyes and carefully sat upright. Clara was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch. Her head was lolled back onto the ratty-ass cushions and she had a hand over her eyes. Rose took another deep, slow, breath before speaking.

“Clara, may I make a request?” Speaking felt awkward and her torso felt sore. _That ain’t good…_

“Knock yourself out.” Clara mumbled. She sounded tired, with a strong undertone of “I wish I was dead”. Poor bitch probably had a tequila hangover. Those things were fucking grimy. Earlier, Rose had offered her some vodka, to take the edge off, but this chick had physically recoiled from her flask. Fucked if Rose blamed her; she’d been there a time or twenty. Not in a while though.

“Can we go to Long Island? Commack, specifically.” She enunciated carefully. Making mouth words was not something she could brain well, at the moment. It wouldn’t have been an issue if she hadn’t gone so hard last night, but oh well. _You didn’t exactly need that bump this morning either, strictly speaking._

“It’s out of the way. Why do you want to go?”  _Cuz fuck you, that’s why! WOAH! No, no, no, no, no!_  Rose tried to relax and focus on the situation at hand. Anger and resentment had surged up inside of her and she needed to put the brakes on it _now_. She couldn’t let her thoughts get ahead of her right now. That always fucked her up. She hated explaining herself but Clara hadn’t done anything wrong, so she wasn’t going to fly off the handle. She was not going to visualize some bullshitty argument where Clara was being totally unreasonable and hostile, and then act like it had actually happened. Not this time. She took a deep breath, disguising it as a yawn, and let it out slowly. Clara was asking because it made sense of her to ask and if they couldn’t go, it would be because of real reasons and not because “fuck you, shut up.” It was almost _never_ “fuck you, shut up.” Rose successfully cut off what would have assuredly been a long string of negative thoughts and managed to rationalized her anger away. _I’m getting better. Good job, honey biscuit._ She reflected on the fact that she’d actually gotten better at controlling her temper since becoming a shaman, which was kind of scary. _Did you always talk to yourself this much?_ Maybe being a shaman just meant that you talked to yourself too much. _Thanks, douchefuck. Fuck off._ It occurred to Rose that she hadn’t spoken for at least ten seconds. _Good start. Yer fine, chill._ Rose spoke more quickly than she’d intended to and she slurred a bit as she responded.

“Ther’sh a cemetery I needa visit. I’ll needa hidda flor’st too. ’S not that far. I mean,” She paused and swallowed before speaking more slowly, “I know it’s out of our way, but what’s a few more hours on a drive this long?” Rose didn’t like pulling the cemetery card, she would have preferred to not mention it at all, but she also knew that it was hard to ignore without feeling like an asshole. Besides, they were going to be on the road for, like, four fucking days. Fuck it anyway; she didn’t even know these people and they probably didn’t even like her. Why should she give a shit if they felt bad? _They’re not what we’re mad at. Chill._ Rose snapped herself out of her head again. Christ, today was already being difficult. She might not be able to come back for a long time. She might not be able to come back at all. That’s what she was getting upset about. Maybe they would though. She hoped so. _Yes, good, be honest with yourself. Can I even lie to you? Probably not but let’s not try._

Clara took a slow, deep breath. “…I see. Well, I don’t mind, but you’ll have to ask JJ; she’s the driver. You’ll probably want to wait a few hours though.” Clara was speaking evenly and quietly; it looked like she wasn’t planning on moving for at least another year or two. She sounded like she was trying to zen her way through the hangover. Rose briefly felt a pang of shame for making her talk instead of waiting for her to feel better _,_ but she was still pretty sure that her ploy to hedge her bets had been the better choice, from a pragmatic standpoint. _You always were decent at tactics. Mostly…Oh, stop it already. I’ll make it up to them if they say yes. Hey, lookit you; that some’a you peekin’ out there?_ Rose smiled to herself. The idea of returning a favor felt kind of nice. _Don’t disappoint them._

“I’ll—“ Rose was interrupted by the sound of JJ, once again, puking in the public restroom down the hall from The Muff Cave. Rose sighed and stood up. This was a second chance. _Time to start paying it forward. If nothing else, it’ll ingratiate her to you more. Exactly. Christ, you’re selfish. And alive. What does that even mean? Shut up._ She left the room and walked down the hall to a vending machine. Change of game plan. Good impressions. She was going to make good impressions this time. She already blew the first one so she would have to try harder. She couldn’t just keep going on getting fucked up on other peoples’ dimes and crashing on their couches and then blowing up, or nearly blowing up, at everyone when she didn’t get what she wanted right when she wanted it. She needed to get better at dealing with people or else, sooner or later, she’d be fucked. Alone, in a cage, or rotting in a gutter somewhere. It was time to try and step the fuck up. They were both nice and she should try to be nice back, even if they were faking it. Fuck,  _especially_  if they were faking it. She didn’t survive eighteen years in Jacksonville to be out-fake-polited, damn it. _Some might call that manipulating people, not dealing with them. I fail to see the difference. Liar._

“Does JJ like ginger ale?” she called back to the open door.

“I ‘unno. Probably.” Clara was starting to sound put upon. Rose didn’t blame her. She still felt kind of bad for getting so wasted last night but it was hard to stop once she got going, and the fire had just been so pretty. At least JJ had passed out instead of Rose; she was much smaller and easier to carry. Besides, if she _had_ acted like a jackass then they couldn’t be mad about it because she had carried JJ. They’d have to let it slide. _I want you both to like me; I’m worth liking, I used to have friends even. Yes, good attitude and nice of you to say…I really hope Clara Cyte hasn’t been reading our mind. We both know that she has. Fuck. I concur._

She retrieved her lock picks from the inside pocket of her vest and started working on the padlock on the front of the machine. Getting it off was trivial. Cheap piece of shit; she hadn’t even needed to sober up first. She probably could have just broken the damned thing off too. _We DO have cash monies, you know. Where’s the fun in that?_ She opened the machine and grabbed a can, not bothering to relock it before walking to the women’s restroom. She knocked once and entered. JJ was on her knees, occupying the only stall. She’d been in there for about an hour now. It was amazing how much vomit such a tiny person could hold. Rose felt a tiny pang of nostalgia for college, but none for earlier this morning, when she herself had been in the same position that JJ was in now. Weird, how vomiting got more romantic with time. Wait, what the fuck was she going on about?  _This is why no one likes you, ya fuckin’ weirdo. No, no, nunna that now._

“Here.” Rose popped the tab on the can and set it next to JJ. The poor cunt was breathing heavily and holding on to the bowl like she thought she was going to fall off the earth. “I have a small favor to ask when you’re done.” She wondered if that had been too pushy. She’d never really mastered the art of the soft touch.  _Stop fucking overthinking shit._

“If you get me a bacon sandwich, I will do anything you fucking wa—kHHHUUUURGHHHH.” Rose’s mouth twisted in disgust as she heard splashing. At least she didn’t have to hold JJ’s hair back. _She doesn’t seem mad! Self-high-five, buddy!_

“Sure thing, JJ.”

“Hey guys?” Clara’s voice drifted in. “You wanna do brunch and get some hair of the dog?” Rose decided that she liked these two.  _I must have been fine last night; she wouldn’t say that if I hadn’t been fine…unless I was so not fine that they’re trying to placate me or something._  Rose sighed quietly. God fucking damn it. It was always fucking something.

 


	8. Friday, July 24th, 2015. 11:17 a.m.

I wouldn’t be so paranoid

If the world wasn’t out to kill me             

\- _The Briggs “My Own Enemy”_

It was about 11am and the three of them were in a restaurant on Orchid Street. Cyte had picked a place that offered brunch with unlimited bloody marys and mimosas for twenty bucks a head. Not a bad deal, for LES. JJ was studying Rose from across the table. JJ liked looking at Rose. She liked big, butch, modded, girls who looked like they were good at violence. She wondered what she looked like when she was asleep. In fact, she wondered if Rose slept at all. There was no way she’d gotten more than three hours; she’d been up after JJ’d passed out and before she’d woken up. She was trying to keep up with her drink for drink, and fuck Cyte’s protests. Sure, she probably wasn’t gonna win a drinking contest against her, but everyone knew that your liver grows stagnant if it went unchallenged, or something like that. Besides, after this morning’s hangover, this shit was practically medicinal to JJ. “Look, dude. We gotta get our money’s worth…or that guy at the ATM’s money’s worth, whatever. Chill.”  hadn’t netted her bestest buddy’s approval but it had gotten her to lay off about it. Out loud, anyway.

“You’re setting kind of a bad example.”

“She’s a grown-ass woman Cyte. Relax. P.S.: You’re on your third drink.”

“Yeah, but I’m not driving.”

“Ya sure? Cuz yer drivin’ me outta my mind right now.”

“Har har.”

“I’ll be here all week…Oh, hey, can Rose psych at all?”

“NO. I told you that like three times.”

“Ooh, I was wondering why she hadn’t tried telepathy.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Bullshit. Everyone loves me.”

“Then why isn’t she talking to you now?”

“Is something wrong? You guys are being kind of quiet.” Rose wasn’t acting like someone who had consumed the number of bloody marys that she had. It must take a lot to get her going. JJ liked that in a person.

“Oh, we’re just hungry. My guts are kinda burnin’. You know how it is.”

“Our food is already here…” Oh, shit. Indeed it was. JJ had never really mastered the art of doing stuff while talking to people’s brains, maybe because she couldn’t do it by herself.

“Oh, heh. Yeah.” JJ started seasoning her eggs as she tried to change the subject. She wanted to know more about their shiny, new, meat shield. She was still green, but she had been involved in a whole lot of crazy in a short time. There was something about a bear too. JJ sort of regretted not paying attention to what she had been told, but taking your attention away from the game of Punch Buggy that had been going on at the time was exactly how you lost. “So, where were you before this?”

“Um, not sure actually.” _Bwuh?_ “I moved around a lot. It all kind of runs together after a while.”

“Don’t ask.”

“Oh, well, um, who was in your old ce— “DON’T. ASK.”—ction of the country that you were in? Anyone we might know?” Best she could do on the fly. She faked like she was gagging slightly. “Sorry, I’m still kinda fucked.”

“Um, maybe. I don’t really remember any names off the top of my head.” She didn’t seem like she wanted to talk about it. JJ had no fucking idea where to go from there. _Geez, what’s her problem?_

“Don’t ask about that either.”

“That’s cool. I’m terrible with names myself.” JJ bought herself some time with a few bites of hash browns and tried to think of a question that wasn’t “Hey, wanna show each other all of our tattoos?”. It wasn’t like she’d be able to do that in public anyway. “I bet you’ve been involved in all kinds of crazy missions, huh?” Rose chugged her entire drink the second the waitress set it down and asked for another. She nodded in response to JJ’s question, not looking at either of them. Clara looked slightly pained, in that way she always did when JJ was committing some faux pas or another. _Okay, time to go for the sure thing_. “…I got so fucked up last night. Sorry you had to carry me out.” _Sorry I was asleep while that close to your tits, Butch._

“Heh, no worries. I was pretty wasted too.” _Boom! Gets ‘em every fuckin’ time!_

“You are rucking fediculous.”

“Shut up!”

They spent the next several minutes sharing drinking stories. It was mostly JJ and Cyte talking, but they managed to get her to smile a few times. JJ was finishing one of her favorites, the first time she had accidentally driven into a bridge that didn’t have enough clearance, when Tara contacted her.

“How’s it going so far? You guys ok?”

“I think this one is broken, dude.”

She heard Tara sigh. “God damn it…Well, you saw that thing on the news yesterday, right? That was cool, wasn’t it?”

“What thing on the news?”

“Uh oh…” Well, time to strap in.

“Speaking of smashing up cars, anything crazy happen since you got in?” JJ asked casually, secretly annoyed that she hadn’t gotten to the happy ending where she recovered the bag of pills she’d thrown out the window.

“You didn’t…TK a car, did you? Like, a moving car?” Clara was staring at something above and behind Rose. JJ followed her gaze. TVs. There were TVs over the bar.

“Oh, uh…My Barrier kinda went off yesterday.” Rose visibly tensed up as JJ wondered how the fuck that was something you could “kinda” do. “Why...?”

“Don’t look. Be cool, buddy.” JJ was trying to take her own advice by concerning herself with her food. Thankfully, all but one of the TVs was showing some hockey game, but the one that wasn’t was tuned into the local news. “WOMAN WANTED IN CONNECTION WITH HIT AND RUN” was below a picture of Rose’s face.

“The woman was described as being in her twenties, five foot six to five foot ten, with long, green hair, and dressed all in black. Witnesses report that she seemed agitated and may have been intoxicated.” The newscaster was narrating over shitty footage of a Brooklyn street, presumably from some camera phone or something. Rose stumbled into the street, in front of a moving cab. The cab’s hood snapped up and its windshield shattered as the body of the car tilted forward sharply, as though it had hit a sudden dip in the road or been pimp slapped backwards by an invisible burst of kinetic force from someone’s brain, and slammed into the car behind it. The ass end of the cab was stuck on the hood of some poor bastard’s car. JJ’s heart quickened slightly. Rose appeared on the other side of the cab, visibly stumbling. Seems like she was even more like a wall than JJ had thought. _I wonder if that was on purpose.._.

The newscaster started spinning some bullshit about a pothole and sewer gas and blah, blah, blah. “Police say they are not seeking to press charges and warn that the woman may be mentally disturbed or injured and possibly suffer from a condition called “congenital analgesia”; a disorder that makes people insensitive to pain. If you see her, please call 911 and try to keep her from moving until help arrives.” It cut to some pig in front of a hospital.

“I’ve seen people shrug off truly astounding injuries while intoxicated, but we have to be prepared for all possibilities. As you can see, she appears to be disoriented.” JJ turned her attention back to Rose.

“So, you’re…not. Here. Anymore.” She said to the empty seat in front of her. Cyte was leaning on the table and resting her chin in her hand.

“Yeah, she panicked and ran out.” She said calmly.

“Well, get her to fucking come back!”

“Shut up, I’m doing it.” Clara was silent for a moment. JJ decided to ask for the check while she waited. “Ok, she’s…she’s not really listening to me…and she’s going too fast. On the plus side, I don’t think she’s going to leave my range.”

“Is she—“

“No, she’s not faster than you, shut up.” _Damn right!_ A bit more time went by. “Oh no.” Clara looked disgusted. “No, don’t.” Her mouth was open now. “Oh, Jesus…” JJ was worried now.

“It’s not the cops, right?” Last thing they fucking needed right now. Or ever, for that matter.

“No, no. Blarg…H’ok, I’m going to need you to burn her clothing.” JJ growled and raised an eyebrow. “Do you ever fucking stop??”

“It hasn’t stopped in the five years you’ve known me, why would it stop now? And I’m allowed to have fantasies, ya fuckin’ brain nazi.” That one got some weird looks from the hipsters at the next table. Conveniently, the check came. JJ decided to leave a fifty percent tip. Tipping big with stolen cash always felt like a bit of a karmic rebalance.

Cyte looked at her reproachfully. She always got ticked off when JJ called her a brain nazi, which is _exactly_ what a brain nazi would do. “Oh, I know. Trust me, I know. Come on, let’s get her.” As they stood up, JJ caught her muttering something or other in disapproval of their new companion’s actions and briefly enjoyed the fact that it was aimed at someone else, for a change.

“So, what happened?”

Cyte sighed as they exited the building. “You remember the time we got really high in that dorm room and the fire alarm went off and we couldn’t figure out how to open the door so we ended up breaking it down because we were freaking out and thinking we were gonna die and then we remembered that we had just locked it from the inside and it turned out to be a drill anyway?”

“Uh…not really.” It did sound like them though.

“Well, it’s kinda like that.”


	9. Friday, July 24th, 2015. 11:45 a.m.

I could give you lessons on how to ruin your friendships

_\- Less Than Jake “The Science Of Selling Yourself Short”_

 

Rose crouched in the darkness of the dumpster behind the fish market, contemplating her recent life choices and wondering if, perhaps, she had overreacted.

“Without wishing to be rude, this doesn’t really project an image of _not_ being mentally unstable or _not_ needing professional help.”

She knew that Clara couldn’t see her, but she still nodded slightly. Yes, running across the tops of all of those cabs had been a bit flashy. Yes, maybe she had just run a bit too fast for people to not remark on it, even if she hadn’t done it on cabs. Yes, the people whose clothing stand she had knocked over would probably remember her. Yes, ripping the lock off of the dumpster had been loud. Yes, this was not a good place to be with a flesh wound. It was also true that she didn’t really have a plan after getting inside and it had since set in that this was probably the exact opposite of what she should have done.

“…It made sense at the time?”

“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that one…Hang on, we’re coming to get you.” Clara must have had the patience of a saint because she only sounded moderately annoyed. Rose had screamed for blood over way less. She wondered if maybe she should leave said dumpster but, at this point, she kind of felt like it would be in her best interest to not make any decisions by herself.

“ _Would you please get out of that dumpster already?_ You don’t have any open wounds or anything, right?”

“Um, …sorta?” Rose knew that you couldn’t _hear_ face palming over telepathy, but she was still pretty sure she was sensing it on some level. Rose exited the dumpster, trying and failing to not feel like an idiot. Two padlocks broken before noon and she’d gotten the cops on her tail in less than 48 hours. It was kind of like back when she was a dealer, actually. She picked bits of squid and who even knew what else off of her clothing before nearing the edge of the alley, trying her best to not look like a person of interest. After a few minutes, a cab pulled up with JJ at the wheel and Clara in the passenger seat. Clara must have been a pretty decent psyker to pull that off so quickly.

“Okay.” Clara began, once Rose was in the back and JJ had started driving. “I just want you to know that we’re all in this together. Don’t panic next time. We’ll all look out for each other.” She smiled a bit too hard as she casually reached back and picked a hitherto unnoticed baby octopus out of Rose’s hair. She tossed it into JJ’s hair without taking her eyes off Rose.

 _“FUCKING GROSS, DUDE!”_ JJ bellowed in response.

“That’s the spirit!” Clara chirped enthusiastically. Rose chuckled awkwardly; painfully aware of how deeply she was blushing and only just resisting the urge to go for her flask.  


	10. Friday, July 24th, 2015. 1 p.m.

Calling you, tears thaw my sleep  


Wanting you, this hoary web is weaved  


From this strange confusion  


Grows a perverse communication  


It enthralls me and coils me around

_\- Siouxsie and The Banshees “The Sweetest Chill”_

After a quick stop at a Planet Fitness in Brooklyn for a shower and Clara stitching up Rose’s side, JJ had proceeded to sit Rose down in the passenger seat and talk her ear off all the way to Commack. She was pretty sure she’s caught Clara rolling her eyes as JJ had taken her arm to lead her back to the car. It wasn’t _that_ lame that she didn’t know how give herself proper stitches, was it? _I dunno if it’s lame, but it is a bit surprising. All things considered._ Before long, they had ditched the cab for a camper that JJ had stashed outside of the city. She was navigating it on the Long Island Expressway and seemed flat out cheerful. She hadn’t minded Rose’s request at all and had seemed entertained by the morning’s fiasco, rather than angry. It turned out that she really loved to drive. As she explained to Rose, in between countless anecdotes and bad jokes, her main role in The Order was extracting and transporting contraband, resources, and espers via automobile. She made no secret of the fact that she thought she was amazing at it either. In fact, she was so confident in her driving abilities that the voicemail message on her burner phones was always “When shit gets cray, call JJ Decay.” Rose knew this for a fact because JJ had insisted she call her burner phone to hear it. Rose’s eyes almost rolled straight out of her head when she heard it, but she couldn’t deny that she was a skilled driver. JJ didn’t seem to mind. She struck Rose as the kind of person who was perpetually surrounded by people rolling their eyes and didn’t notice them anymore.

She thought that she’d be annoyed with the constant chatter, but it was actually kind of nice. She liked the sound of JJ’s voice and JJ didn’t pry or ask her how she was feeling. She didn’t comment on her, admittedly odd and unhealthy, habits. She didn’t ask if Rose needed to sleep or talk about anything. JJ just told stories about herself and Clara. It was almost like she didn’t need to be there at all. It was oddly comforting, even though she understood that feeling that way was probably a very bad sign. Whatever, she was practically made of red flags anyway, what was one more? She just chilled with a bottle of orange juice and Popov and passively absorbed what she was told. The more she heard, the more she understood why Clara had kept her cool this morning. Clara was busy texting on her burner but she would occasionally look up to correct JJ’s statements. Apparently, JJ was a bit of a bullshitter, but it seemed to be more for the sake of making events sound funnier or more exaggerated, rather than braggadocio or garden variety crazy. Way too fucking much of the latter two in The Zodiac Order.

The trip out to Commack only took about an hour and a half. Rose purchased a bouquet of irises from a small florist near the cemetery. Clara offered to Push the cashier into just giving them to her— “They probably do enough business with that location anyway”— but Rose declined. Tainting this gesture with theft would have been wrong…probably?

“So…who are the flowers for?” JJ inquired as they pulled into the cemetery parking lot. Rose didn’t respond. She requested that they let her go in alone, and they agreed that would be best. Rose felt a profound sense of appreciation and was deeply relieved that she had held her temper this morning. _See? Sometimes people ask why, NOT because they’re going to give you shit._

She wasn’t gone long. Maybe a half hour. They had had the decency to hit a liquor store while she was gone too. She was deeply disappointed by what she hadn’t found, but maybe she could at least repay those two for their patience and blow off some steam as well. _Damn good thing you didn’t tell them why you came. You’d feel like an ass and a half right about now. Already do, shut up._

“How much cash do we have left?” She asked as they sat around the small table in the rear of the camper, parked a short distance from the cemetery.

“Runnin’ kinda low, but Cyte can get us more.”

“Uh…Yeah, I know but maybe, um, I could do it this time?”

“What, like stealing an ATM?” Clara asked. “I mean, that’d be cool and I’m sure you could, but they watch those things like hawks.”

“Heh, nah.” That was a cool idea, though. Rose grinned, flattered that that had been the first thing to come to Clara’s mind. She wondered what JJ had thought she meant. “Something a bit more low tech.”


	11. Friday, July 24th, 2015. 8:23 p.m.

Let me fall out of the window  

With confetti in my hair 

Deal out jacks or better  

On a blanket by the stairs 

I'll tell you all my secrets 

But I lie about my past 

So send me off to bed forever more

\- _Tom Waits “Tango Till They’re Sore”_

 

“She’s good at this.” JJ commented as they sat on top of the camper, watching the spectacle in the other parking lot unfold.

“She’s _really_ good at this.” Cyte added, puffing on a cigarette. “One might say that she’s practiced at this.” She snapped her fingers. “I got it! This is probably how she makes money on the road.” JJ hoped that was true. That was so fucking sexy.

“Can we keep her?” JJ burst out laughing as yet another trust fund baby dropped like a fucking velociraptor had gotten them. One of the ones from the first Jurassic Park flick; none of that scientific crap. Rose was staying low so JJ couldn’t see her, but that just made the effect funnier and added a charming air of anticipation. They had a really good view of the parking lot Rose was hunting in. It wasn’t mugging, it was legit hunting. She heard Cyte sigh and just knew that she was making that face. Cyte was always so fuckin’ serious. “You sighin’ at me or her?”

“You, and maybe. If she wants to stick around, it’s as much up to her as it is to us.” She paused for another puff. “We _were_ supposed to hit the road like six hours ago.”

“Can you really be ma- _BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA_! Good god! Can we do this all the time??” Near as she could see, a person would approach a car, then they would fall really hard and fast, and the back door of the car would open and then close after a second. Rinse and repeat every few minutes. She’d just gotten three within five minutes. It was Friday at SUNY Stony Brook and the kids who lived on campus for the Summer had started partying early. Even better, it was hot as shit, so no one wanted to come out and the people who were out were totally focused on getting to and from their cars. She had been at this for, like, twenty uninterrupted minutes.

“I am not complaining, buddy.” She replied pleasantly. Cyte tended to be more reserved than JJ, but fucked if she didn’t like watching members of the Order screw around with the normies just as much as she did. She almost choked on her next drag as yet another brodude disappeared. When she was done, she cleared the throat and composed herself again. “In all seriousness though.” Oh, Christ. JJ knew this had been coming. “Be careful with this one.” JJ sighed.

“Look, dude—“

“No. I mean it. She’s fucked up, JJ. She’s a fucking train wreck and I know that you can’t resist one of those. Trying to enter a relationship, sexual or otherwise, with someone in her situation isn’t a good idea for either of you.” JJ sighed with irritation. Just because it had gone badly the last time didn’t mean it would this time. It _probably_ would, but not definitely. “Look, I’m not saying never go for her, just wait until she’s doing better. Doing that whole Florence Nightingale thing isn’t fair to either of you.”               

“I don’t even fuckin’ know if she likes girls. Lay the fuck off.” JJ grumbled, defensively.

“That’s not the point. Also, no, I don’t know either and, no, I won’t check for you.” She took another drag and flicked the butt away before turning to her companion. JJ knew that she was making her wet cat face, but she wasn’t gonna try to hide it. Cyte hugged JJ tightly and kissed her temple. “I love you.” JJ grumbled a few nonwords in reply, knowing Cyte would understand what she meant. “C’mon, don’t make that face. You can still look, at least.” She caressed JJ’s back a few times before sitting up again, an arm loosely wrapped around JJ’s waist. JJ stewed a little bit. The fact that Cyte was right, combined with the knowledge that she was sincerely trying to look out for JJ and was doing it out of love, somehow made it all the more irritating. The tension was broken by another kid hitting the dirt. They shared a laugh, like they had so many times before, and a sense of affection replaced JJ’s irritation. _Yer lucky I love ya, ya fuckin’ spoil sport._ And then, as was often the case in close friendships between emotionally stunted people, it was as if nothing had happened. She wrapped an arm around Cyte’s shoulders and leaned into her a bit. Their tiffs tended to end in displays of mild homoeroticism, which was exactly how JJ liked it. “What’s the score so far?”

“I think like…four girls and three guys. What the fuck is she even _doing_?” They had taken a quick walk through the parking lot earlier, so Cyte probably had a bird’s eye view of whatever was going on.

“She’s tackling them and then choking them out.” _Mmmmm. Tasty._ JJ smiled to herself. Maybe just looking wasn’t so bad.

“I’m kinda hungry, d’ya think you could call a pizza place and get them to deliver to that parking lot?” Cyte snorted and laughed.

“You asshole! I’m not doing that; it’d take way too long.”

“I like that _that’s_ why you object to the idea. Oh, shit!” A guy had just pulled into a spot and had exited his car. He was carrying big takeout bags. “Oh, shit! Yeah, c’mon! Do it, do it, do it!”

“She’s moving! She’s _moving!_ ” Cyte reported, excitedly. They both waited with baited breath, muttering encouragement. The guy was still walking. He was nearing the edge of the parking lot. He was almost in the clear. And he was down! She and Cyte cheered and high fived.

“I love how egalitarian she’s being about this.”

“Yeah.” Cyte agreed, with mock seriousness. “To do otherwise would be wrong.”

“Ever so wrong.” JJ nodded. “Aw, damn it.” Someone had spotted her from a window and was leaning out and yelling something. JJ slipped out of Cyte’s arm and jumped onto the hood. Cyte was right on her heels as she rushed into the camper and started the engine. Rose appeared on the near side of the parking lot, running while doubled over. She had the bags in one hand and what looked like a twelve pack in the other. The person leaning out the window was pointing at her. People were starting to come outside. She straightened up and broke into a full run as people started chasing her. They had zero chance of catching her though; she was way too far away and too fast. Not as fast as JJ though, she noted with pride.  The camper approached the exit of the parking lot closest to Rose. The second she was in, JJ gunned it and sent her sprawling. She managed to keep the beer and food elevated and level though. Cyte shut the door as JJ drove off the campus. Rose was laughing her ass off. JJ enjoyed a second of delight at hearing it before checking the rearview mirror. Sure enough, a car full of people was already chasing them. Eh, they were just college kids, no reason to get violent. Lucky for them, they were on a big, empty, only slightly curved, road soon enough.

“Cyte, wheel.” She stood up, not waiting for Cyte to comply. They’d done this like a zillion times before, she knew the drill. Cyte was in the seat before they even had time to lose that much speed. JJ walked to the back of the camper and looked at the front tires of the car behind them. They were gaining on them now. Someone’s daddy had sprung for a pretty nice car. Was that a Corvette Stingray? She hoped it wouldn’t get too damaged; she wouldn’t have minded going for a spin in one of those things. Oh, it had a vanity plate though. Eh, nothing was perfect. She wondered what it said. The headlights were making it hard to see.

“ _JJ, stop eye fucking the car and get rid of them!”_ Cyte snapped. Right, that. She took a deep, slow, breath and concentrated on heating up the tires. After a few seconds, both of them popped rather loudly and dramatically. The car swerved a bit, but he driver managed to stop it safely. Good for them. She moved to Rose and helped her up.

“Good teamwork, everyone.” Cyte called back.

“You too, Cyte! Thanks for the dinner theater.” JJ said playfully, giving Rose a warm hug. With some alarm, she noted that Rose was nothing but muscle and bone. She hadn’t realized that before, but she kept it off of her face as they separated.

“No prob, darlin’.” For a glorious second, JJ thought she was blushing, but then she realized that she was probably was probably just flushed from the booze and exertion. Rose’s mood was visibly changed. She looked tired. In fact, she actually seemed kinda…scared? Oh, fuck! Maybe she didn’t like being touched? Rose put the haul on the table in the camper’s kitchenette, walked over to the bunk beds and sat on the lower one. “I think I’m gonna sleep for a while, if that’s ok.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” JJ wasn’t sure if Rose had eaten anything solid all day. If she had, it couldn’t have been very much. In her experience, somas usually ate like it was their job. Feeling increasingly concerned, she sat down next to Rose. She looked tense. JJ recalled what Cyte had said earlier about not doing the Florence Nightingale thing. Luckily, she didn’t have to be the next person to speak.

“Vodka doesn’t do much to promote tissue repair. If you’re malnourished, you’ll heal less quickly and not as well.” Cyte called back, matter-of-factly. Yeah, that seemed like a good angle to work. “Also, if that was Chinese, dibs on the fried noodles.”

“Cyte’s a doctor, buddy. A doctor who always steals the fried fucking noodles,” she pointedly directed that last comment at Cyte’s back, “but a doctor. She knows what’s up about stuff. And things. _Especially_ things.” JJ was trying to use a soft touch. She didn’t wanna make her feel like she was being forced or anything.

Rose caved after a bit more persuasion, although she wouldn’t let Cyte check how her injury was doing, for some reason. Even JJ could tell that she was trying and failing to hide how uncomfortable she was, but what was she uncomfortable about? Was she mad? Was it just the booze?

“Relax. It’s complicated."


	12. Friday, July 24th, 2015. 10:43 p.m.

Oh, I've been sometimes under your wall

Peeping at all where I'm not welcome

I've seen you one time stumble and fall

But I still love you, you see

\- _Ted Leo and The Pharmacists “Under The Hedge”_

 

Anything else about them aside, the trio was highly entertaining and quite colorful. It had been pure coincidence that he had checked in when he had and that, years ago, he had spent a night at SUNY Stony Brook. Sirius had a bit of a ritual; whenever he was in a new place, he would take a walk and see as much of it as possible. He was charming and, when in a suit, unassuming, so his presence was generally not unwelcome. In cases where said suit would be unwelcome, all he had to do was remove his shirt and change into some ratty jeans and viola: instant hooligan. Also, when the situation called for it, he wore a dress rather well, if he did say so himself.

Presently, he was enjoying the creature comforts of a king suite in Colorado City, which included the affections of the two companions that the cell he was currently assisting (who had charmingly nicknamed themselves The Bad Luck Boys) had rescued. Purely platonic affections, of course; they had both just escaped rather traumatic circumstances. The three of them were on the couch, watching cartoons. He sat between the both of them, in a small cuddle puddle. Sirius was greatly enjoying himself. The successful extraction and delivery of his new friends had filled him with serenity and warmth. The feeling was aided by the brownie that they had split an hour ago. He savored these rare, wonderful, moments when he and others could relax and let their barriers down around each other. They were safe, for now. Seeing to that had been a trivial matter.

The Bad Luck Boys had successfully avoided pursuit. He knew this due to listening in on a few highly satisfying conversations involving the monster in charge of the facility. Apparently, The Institute was under the impression that his new friends had all been killed when poor Jude had popped. Contrary to their name, they had been outside of his overload radius, but any witnesses or surveillance equipment had been destroyed and it was hard to distinguish one pile of ash from another. From there, it had easy to find the minds of said monster’s superiors, since he was explicitly and utterly terrified of how Dr. Jacob McKenneth and Agent Ashley Stokeworth would react to his losing a billion dollar investment. As they were notified, Sirius simply sent them his feelings on the matter, which weren’t terribly dissimilar to their own, especially in the case of Ms. Stokeworth: That the good doctor deserved to be punished severely, that this model of indoctrination was inefficient and had a high risk of being counterproductive, and that said doctor was a sadistic idiot who was too incompetent to work with espers. The sentiment was wrapped all in a nice, thick, cocoon of rage. He also knew for a fact that the head doctor had already been “reassigned”. It was better than the bastard deserved but at least he wouldn’t be in a position to hurt his brothers and sisters, or ever see the sky, again. His fear was utterly delicious. He made a note to send him a taste of how his new friends had felt during some of his tests tonight. He pulled his thoughts away from that as he realized that he had been clenching his jaw. There would be time for that later. He should focus on his new friends.

He smiled and nuzzled his face into the hair of the young man under his left arm while caressing the shaved scalp of the woman on his right. His tension was replaced with affection. _I knew you both before we’d even met._ The woman, in telling defiance of her nickname, was a telekinetic who was just shy of being a bluejack. Without wishing to be disrespectful, it was probably better for literally everyone that Arsyn wasn’t capable of necrokinesis. The man was a pyrokinetic and psychokinetic. Sirius had taken a special liking to him from the start, partially because he found Wilbur’s puppy-like vulnerability to be somewhat charming and partially because they were both rather averse to killing. It wasn’t a terribly common philosophy among his brothers and sisters.

His thoughts wandered to the few times he’d actually interfered on their behalf. It was dangerous to interfere and he nearly had a blanket policy against it, but there was an exception: He would never let his captured brothers and sisters lose hope, if he could help it. Twice, he had seen these two almost fall into despair and twice he had sent them his own feelings on the matter: No one has forgotten you. They’ll come for you soon and you’ll be free again. He sent his feelings, not his explicit thoughts, due to the chance that a psychokinetic was available to check their memories for contact. Additionally, finding a bubble of hope and courage within yourself in your darkest hour did wonders for people’s self-confidence. He never told them it had been him, of course.

There, naturally, were ethical concerns with reading the memories and thoughts of someone who wasn’t aware that you were even there, but it was incredibly pragmatic. For example, it gave him everything he needed to ensure that his friends were as comfortable as possible. As he didn’t venture into combat himself (he was terrible with guns and not much of pugilist), he usually took pains to arrange to have something nice waiting for his friends when they came to him. Sometimes while actively providing tactical support. He was amazing at multitasking at this point in his life. Actually, he was doing it right now. He couldn’t see the trio at present, but he could still listen in, especially since he had elected to track the three of them after reading their thoughts a few days ago. The trick about Telempathy (as well as reading someone’s surface thoughts) was that people who were talking would think about what they were saying as they were saying it, so the listener (so to speak) would get a combination of real time talk and the internal monologue. He was listening to all three. Getting to know his rescuers helped keep the anxiety at bay.

“I’m going to have to leave soon.” He said casually.

_“Oh, my god. Is Rose trying to trade that necklace for MDMA? Hell no. HELL no.”_ A feeling of aggravation. Sirius smiled. JJ and Clara Cyte had a bit of reputation for getting into mischief, usually because of the former, and with the introduction of Rose the poor woman must have her hands full.

“When?” Wilbur asked, sleepily.

_“Oh, my god! Is Rose scoring us molly?”_ This was accompanied by an intense feeling of lust and a desire to set something on fire. _Good lord. Prism was right._ JJ was fun. A bit hard to take seriously and sometimes frightening, but fun.

“Monday.” The event would take place on Tuesday, but he wanted to make sure they would be far away from him.

_“Oh, my god…I need a fucking drink. Just BUY the fucking necklace, you stupid shit. WOAH! Why is she so mad?”_ Aggravation followed by surprise and regret.Sirius chuckled lightly, but also felt a bit sad. Rose had her good points, but she was arrogant and rude and had more baggage than a fully loaded cruise ship whose parents had had a messy divorce.

“Where we goin’?” Arsyn asked. He was sorry that they’d have to move again so quickly, but it was really for their own safety.

_“It’d be shit anyway, doesn’t she know that?”_ Sirius enjoyed Clara Cyte’s ubiquitous pragmatism. The two of them would probably get along swimmingly.

“Don’t worry about that. We have it all worked out.” He lightly brushed some stray hairs off of her neck. She had fixed her mohawk earlier and cleanup hadn’t been a priority. As far as he could tell, it generally wasn’t. “You’ll be able to stay put for a bit longer and relax.”

_“Shit molly gets you higher than no molly!”_ Sirius supposed that JJ was pragmatic in her own way as well.

“Will there be drugs there?”

_“Shut up, JJ.”_

“Of course, Arsyn.”

“Um, can I go back to my apartment? I need my equipment.” Wilbur asked, meekly. It sounded like he already knew the answer.

“I’m sorry, Wilbur. That can’t happen.” He gave the poor man a reassuring smile. “But we’ll take care of the both of you. Everything will be fine.” Wilbur half-heartedly returned his smile, but he looked deeply saddened. Sirius didn’t blame him in the slightest. _“_ You know, some of us develop the power to hack electronics with our gift. Maybe that’ll be you some day. I bet that would save you a great deal of trouble.” Wilbur didn’t look any less miserable but Sirius could tell that he had piqued his interest and maybe that was the best he could do right now.

 _"Oh, no. Of course she’s mad at me; we’re supposed to be on the DL and this guy’s got a good, long, look at the three of us. I wonder if she wants me to kill him so he can’t tell anyone about us?”_ _That’s a bit premature…_ He could tell that Rose was honestly trying to help the situation, which made it all the more disturbing. The fact that she was allowed to be outside of the compound in her current state was more than a bit worrisome, truth be told. Actually, she had just enough in common with Arsyn that Sirius suspected that they would meet and hate each other.

_"What the fuck??”_ _My sentiments exactly._ He wondered if she was reading Rose’s thoughts. She seemed to be in the habit of doing that to the people around her.  _“Ok, you’re insane and this situation needs to end NOW.”_ He was fairly certain that she hadn’t said that out loud. He could feel the last of her patience slipping away as the two of them started to snap at each other.

_“Oh, shit! Bro’s trying to step to Rose!”_ JJ felt excited. She wanted to see Rose hurt someone.

_“What the fuck? Don’t get involved, dickhole. Lemme sort this with her and—Wait, why am I even negotiating? Derp.”_ He was fairly certain that she _had_ said that out loud.

_“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! What is she doing!?”_

_“BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”_

Sirius chuckled under his breath as the three began to run with Rose in the lead, JJ quickly gaining on her and Clara lagging behind slightly.

“Why d’ya think ASPCA commercials are funny, ya fuckin’ psycho?” Arsyn and Wilbur had both pulled away from him and were looking perplexed. Sirius cleared his throat. He’d forgotten that they were both new. How awkward.

“Well, I’m what they call a “Seer”.” He spent the next few minutes describing his powers and fielding their questions. He clarified the situation sufficiently, but his invitation to resume the cuddle puddle was politely, but firmly, declined.


	13. Saturday, July 25th, 2015. 3:44 a.m.

Tempt me again and I will forget the truth

Backing your decision

Was something I neglected to do

Even for you

If you feel rage to strike me with revenge

I will be standing right here

Waiting without fear

For you

I wanted to say

You shouldn't suffer this way

I wanted to say

I hope I can take it away

\- _Infected Mushroom “Smashing The Opponent”_

 

Clara had taken the wheel so that the others could get some sleep and she could begin the process of vetting Rose in earnest. There were the advantages and disadvantages of working with the esper in question which needed to be considered prior to determining whether or not they would or should work together in the future. There was also the question of whether or not Clara and JJ actually liked her enough to do so and vice versa.  Making the cut wasn’t terribly difficult, although disciples were automatically disqualified, on account of the whole “not being an esper” thing. Some of her brothers and sisters felt that having to qualify to work with the pair of them was snobbish and antithetical to the beliefs of The Zodiac Order. Clara would gladly suffer that to protect the pair of them. There was a reason why they had survived together for so long. As much as JJ and Clara might tease each other, Clara deeply respected JJ and her abilities, and she knew that the feeling was mutual. As much as she cared for her brothers and sisters, not all of them were as good at taking care of one another as the two of them.

She would never forget her awakening. JJ had come into her life on the same night she’d been given the sacrament. It was an extraordinarily rare honor, to say nothing of the fact that it was given to her by one of Jeremy Bright’s children. She remembered being doubled over, hands over her ears, with a vicious migraine. Words were crashing through her vision as shapes and colors. Blood was pouring out of her nose. She could see the outside of the building they were in, which had been horribly disorienting at the time. JJ had held her and stroked her hair. JJ wasn’t capable of psychokinesis, but she knew the effects of Green. She knew that Clara would be involuntarily and uncontrollably readings the minds of the people around her. JJ had grabbed her attention by thinking as though she were talking to her aloud (as she had put it: “Best way to get someone to notice ya is to say their name, yanno?”) and “talked” her through the experience; telling her what to do and keeping her calm. The first words that Clara had ever telepathically spoken had been “Thank you.” JJ had looked so proud. When she had learned how much danger JJ had put herself in to look after her…well, Clara couldn’t help but feel protective of her. Some espers had powers that were terribly unreliable or embarrassingly weak. Some of them were too unstable, unreliable, or lazy. Some of them were just jerks. That just wouldn’t do.

She briefly sent JJ a feeling of warmth and affection before turning her thoughts back to the task at hand. Clara knew that, when Rose had offered to get them money, she had badly wanted to make herself useful and had been experiencing intense feelings of guilt over imagined slights that she couldn’t even remember committing and was also trying to make up for the botched mission in England, despite the fact that that was irrational. This knowledge had been on the forefront of her thoughts, rather than buried, so she was apparently at least somewhat cognizant of the effects that her trauma was having on her. Points for self-awareness. She’d assumed that Rose had just planned on netting a few hundred dollars from rich kids as a symbolic gesture and that agreeing to it would mostly just help morale and, hopefully, encourage a healthier self-image in the poor woman. It turned out that Rose’s approach to survival was more sophisticated and subtle than Clara had expected from a telek and, in the past several hours, she had revealed herself to be a surprisingly competent criminal, discounting a few obnoxious hiccups. Clara wondered what she was like when she was both totally sober and not wracked with guilt and anxiety. Those two things hadn’t coincided thus far. Negative points for severe neuroticism and an addiction that was presumably strong enough to affect competence.

JJ’s preferred method of generating money was by selling and running contraband with her black market contacts. This was relatively reliable due to the sheer number of people she knew, but was also time consuming and ran a high risk of attracting unwanted attention from other criminals and the police. She _could_ simply disintegrate the wall of a bank vault and just start grabbing money, God knew she had tried to talk Clara into letting her do that enough times, but it was far too high risk.

 Clara usually used her psychokinesis to make people withdraw large sums of cash from their bank accounts and then wipe the memory, which was fast and lucrative but also resulted in several inconvenient questions that could result in the powers that be sniffing them out. There was also the fact that this could easily ruin someone’s entire life, but that was honestly a secondary concern for her. People should pray that the most they end up losing in this world is money.

Rose’s method of making money was more akin to mundane, petty, criminal activity and thus less likely to attract the attention of The Institute while also being faster than JJ’s method, if also the least lucrative of the three. Points for filling a niche. It also left several unknowing and shady accomplices in its wake, so involving the police was strongly discouraged. As she had commented before outlining the plan, “God bless the clueless dipfucks who made possession of stolen property a federal crime.” Points for knowing how to work the system and having a plan. After the muggings, they had hit a few jewelry stores as quickly as possible and used the credit cards Rose had stolen to buy whatever valuables they could. JJ had managed to sniff out some stores that were still open, but it was too late to hit the good places and they couldn’t afford to wait until normal business hours. They had to use the cards before their owners woke up and reported them stolen. Negative points for poor timing, but that was partially negated by necessity and the fact that she knew better. Apparently, she normally did this sort of thing during the day and on a much smaller scale. Negative points for being unnecessarily flashy. Points for honestly wanting to contribute.

If any of them hit their limit, they played the part of the rich girl going through a phase, complete with lots of eye rolling and pouting. Prior to awakening, Rose had been a college student and was thus able to mimic the motions of her more spoiled peers. Points for being able to set change.

JJ had melted the cards when they were done, so no one would be able to lift any prints off of them. Following this, they had fenced all of their purchases, and whatever trinkets Rose had stolen on the campus, at a few different pawn shops. JJ and Rose both had managed to negotiate decent prices, although Rose’s attempted drug barter turned robbery and JJ’s encouragement of said behavior had been more than a bit aggravating. Points for negotiating skill, negative points for sloppiness and bitchiness. Between that and the cash she’d gotten off of her marks, they were set on money for now. They had also changed cars twice since then; currently, Clara was driving yet another camper that JJ had stolen. JJ and Rose apparently both shared a fondness of hotwiring. The latter had also taken some of the money to assemble a breaking and entering kit for herself and, much to Clara’s approval, had insisted that everyone wear gloves while handling the stolen vehicles. Additionally, the time it took was cut down by the fact that she would open said cars by mimicking unlocking a car with keys, lest anyone was watching, while using her telekinesis to unlock the car from the inside and then pretend to look for something while she worked on the car’s innards. Points for general competence, resourcefulness, and skill. JJ had once told her that you could tell a lot about a person from the kind of car they preferred to steal and how they stole it. JJ had noted that Rose was good with her hands and had gone straight for a big, sporty, Jeep. Clara had punched her in the arm to keep her from where ever she was going with that.

So, factoring in that Rose was an alcoholic train wreck, it had already been established that she had a positive point value and was capable of pulling her own weight when she was functional enough to stand. As for personal feelings, Rose seemed to like to like the two of them but was resistant to the idea of growing attached. This was partially because of the loss of her old cell, partially because she kept telling herself that Clara and JJ disliked her and, on a related note, largely because she had a history of cognitive and behavioral patterns that encouraged social alienation.

Obviously, JJ was rather taken with her. Some errant comments Rose had made earlier about her apparent past as a drug dealer and shock troop had deeply intrigued JJ and, while she didn’t want to see Rose get hurt, she was extremely excited by the prospect of seeing her in combat and wanted to know what else she could do. As JJ had thought to herself earlier, while Rose had been hotwiring: _“She’s a big, drunk, angsty, car-stealin’, puzzle with tits. She’s a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, encased in too much goddamn clothing. Fuck, that ass looks firm.”_ She had then began to wonder what type of bra Rose was wearing, at which point Clara stopped listening in. Clara loved JJ but she was a horndog, even by pyro standards. Clara hadn’t quite made up her mind yet as to how she felt about her wayward sister. She’d need some more time to feel her out a bit. She didn’t think that Rose was bad, per se, but there was the very real risk that her self-destructive tendencies would be harmful to JJ, Clara, and the mission. There was also the fact that putting her on any more missions before she could receive proper medical and psychiatric help would be flagrantly irresponsible. She wouldn’t even have put her on this one if it hadn’t been for the fact that Sirius had apparently specifically requested the three of them. All things considered though, Clara understood why Rose was on this mission and why Clara had been tasked with secondary objectives. Objectives that she couldn’t tell JJ about just yet. Not that JJ would necessarily object to all of them; she just might screw them up.

The situation was a powder keg and they couldn’t afford to have it light up if they wanted to succeed. JJ, although loyal to her core, had a way of enabling and encouraging bad habits and that was further complicated by the fact that lust tended to make her even more scatter-brained and impulsive than usual. To her credit, she had tried to be mindful of what Clara had said to her and that was really the best you could hope for when you told JJ that she shouldn’t do something she that she wanted to do. She’d probably have to talk to Rose about that as well, preferably after this gig was all sorted. God, that was going to be awkward. Even broaching the topic was going to either take superhuman conversational skills or, more likely, something truly dramatic happening that would likely result in at least one person being reduced to tears because nothing. Could. Ever. Be. _Easy._ As it happened, Clara had caught Rose having fleeting feelings of mild infatuation with JJ. If JJ found out about that too soon then they were fucked, probably both literally and figuratively. Luckily, to use the word as loosely as possible, Rose’s insecurity, alienation, and generally maladaptive cognition made her utterly oblivious to JJ’s feelings. Additionally, she felt undesirable due to her own perceived incompetence and some garden variety body dysmorphia and so was extremely unlikely to make a move on her own.

“Pardon me, dear sister. My associate would very much like to touch several parts of you with various parts of herself, the details of which are contained in the spreadsheet I’ve provided, and keeps having oddly vivid fantasies about baking cookies for you. Perhaps we could discuss this over some fortified wine of your choosing and, if necessary, acquire any bedding or crockery that may be required later?” she whispered to herself with an air of pomposity before giggling quietly. Or maybe interfering wasn’t necessary. Maybe things would work out on their own. Maybe Clara was secretly the queen of France.

She turned her thoughts from her sisters and began to wonder about Sirius. Espers generally knew each other by reputation and he was something of an icon, especially with his fellow Zodiac Order scryers. All four of them, by Clara’s count. He had seemed confident enough about their prospects for success in his letter, but the fact that they would be aiding him still put a tremendous amount of pressure on them. Not that her companions seemed to fully realize that.

She’d never met him before. Apparently, he was supposed to be very dapper and kind. Was that true or did the others simply not want to speak badly of him? What was it like to be able to scry like he could? To be able to see the future in dreams and the past at will? What did that do to a person? That had to carry a tremendous burden with it, especially considering the way his dreams were so parochial. Or maybe they weren’t. Maybe those were just the only ones he shared. She didn’t expect him to tell her about that if she asked, but she couldn’t help but wonder about the particulars of his gift. Espers were incredibly rare and espers with gifts outside of normal telekinesis, pyrokinesis, and psychokinesis were rarer still. When you met another esper, there was always that desire to know more about them and that desire was even stronger when they had similar talents to yours. Naturally, “similar” was being used loosely. Sirius’ scrying ability dwarfed Clara’s, although she had heard that he himself wasn’t a particularly remarkable psyker and only really knew how to fight with bladed weapons, oddly enough.

Even so, if The Institute got their hands on him and somehow managed to flip him…it didn’t even bare thinking about. Surely, there’d be a rash of raids as bad as, if not worse than, the Thanksgiving incident. Even discounting his powers, he simply knew far too much. Their options were to recover him or ensure that the enemy didn’t take him alive. The idea of the latter physically nauseated Clara. She pushed that away, breathing deeply and slowly through her nose. It wouldn’t be like that again. She trusted her unseen brother. She trusted that he had chosen them because, either through precognition or deduction, he believed that they would succeed, and that gave her some comfort. Everything was different this time. Everyone was going to go home this time. She focused on the road and began to hum to herself, quietly and rhythmically, as she started to feel pressure inside of her head. It subsided after a few minutes. Clara fought of the brief, but intense, urge to pull over and check on Rose and JJ. She knew they were fine, relatively speaking in the case of the former, but she wanted to make sure that they were still really there, as irrational as that was. Alas, someone in the vehicle had to be responsible.

Clara decided it would probably be best to keep her thoughts out of the past, for the moment. For now, JJ could have her fantasies. For now, Rose could have her alcohol. She couldn’t dedicate any significant resources to either situation until the current one was resolved. Anyway, there were always plans to be made. She started making a mental list of espers she should check in with tomorrow and began thinking of exactly how she wanted to frame some conversations she would have to have in the near future, just to be safe. She’d also have to tighten up the protocols surrounding whether or not she would do some of the nastier things she’d been authorized to do. Things that weren’t fit for children of the storm. Things that were for the weak and lesser beings.

Speaking of the weak and lesser beings, lights flashed in the rearview mirror. She pulled over, like any good law abiding driver would. There was only one officer in the car. Maybe things could be easy once in a while. In short order, a tall, stern-looking, man was flashing a light in her face in the way that pigs always did. She always found it to be far too aggressive.

“License and registration.” Clara smiled. Calmness and contentment flowed into her as she replied.

“Be quiet and don’t move.” He was still as a statue. Clara loved doing this. She retrieved a bottle of vodka from the glove compartment. She was sure that Rose wouldn’t mind her using it and she could always replace it anyway. “Good boy. Walk back to your car and turn off its recording devices.” She made sure to keep an eye on him as he did so. She left the camper as quietly as possible, she certainly didn’t want to wake her sisters, and sauntered over to him. His panicked internal monologue was music to Clara’s mind. She toyed with the idea of releasing her pistol from the concealed carry holster strapped to her thigh (who says that skirts can’t be practical?), but decided against it. They’d have to switch cars again after this. Alas. “Get on your radio and let dispatch know that everything is fine and you were mistaken in whatever you thought was the problem. Do not do anything that will make them be suspicious of what you’re saying.”

As he spouted some jargon into his radio, Clara quickly checked to see if he was wearing any recording devices on his person. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t. Even if he had been, it probably would have “malfunctioned” upon seeing that he was pulling over a lovely young woman, such as herself. A quick interview with her current pet, for determining the ratio of vodka to lead that would be entering his body, revealed that he had never killed, sexually assaulted, injured, maced, wrongfully arrested, extorted, or harassed a suspect and that he had no knowledge of The Institute or espers or what a code grey was, all of which was very good for him. Actually, he seemed like a rather nice man. In light of that, Clara decided to go the extra mile.

“So, I’m terribly sorry, but you’re blind.” He couldn’t speak or move unless she told him to, but the distress on his face told her that it had worked. She walked him into the woods surrounding the road. Not too far in, she wanted to stay within scrying distance of the car. She made him drink about five shots worth of liquor, erased his memories of ever seeing her, added one of him stopping for a drink on the job, and another of the bartender commenting that spontaneous blindness after drinking was a sign of liver failure. Then she bade him to run off in the opposite direction of the road and quickly removed his memories of having ever seen her or the camper before slipping away. His blindness would wear off with his Domination, but the new memories and liquor would remain. Yes, it was more complex than simply having him commit suicide, but she couldn’t do that _every_ time. She was a merciful goddess, after all.

As she stepped back onto the road, she heard him scream. Not in pain, in distress. Clara was rather good at interpreting screams at this point in her Zodiac Order career. He would be fine. She quietly got back in the camper and warmly regarded her sleeping sisters. For all their flaws, they were her sisters. _I’d never let them hurt you._ She closed her eyes and focused on the both of them. She sent them her gratitude and thankfulness for the two of them being there with her. They wouldn’t register it consciously, but she wanted to share it with them anyway.

_I’ll take all of us home after this. I promise._


	14. Saturday, July 25th, 2015. 12:37 p.m.

Stray cat strut

I'm a ladies' cat

I'm a feline Casanova

Hey, man, that's where it's at

Get a shoe thrown at me from a mean old man

Get my dinner from a garbage can

\- _Stray Cats “Stray Cat Strut”_

 

“Hey, Jazz?” Jazz stopped changing the front left tire on his Caddy and looked up at the scrawny, blonde chick standing near the hood. She was holding up his burner. He sighed lightly, stood up somewhat carefully, and grabbed it from her outstretched hand. He had told her to hang onto his burner while he worked and to only interrupt him if he was getting a call from either JJ or someone who was actively on fire. Judging by the lack of urgency, he had a sneaking suspicion that he was about to be acting as an errand bitch, yet again.

“Thanks, Rach’.” They exchanged warm smiles as he put the phone to his ear. Hers was probably a good deal more sincere than his. “Yeah?” JJ’s familiar, chipper, crescendo greeted him.

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey, buddy!” He braced himself and noted that the incoming and inevitable ball busting would probably be the high point of his day. There was a safety in that though. If JJ wasn’t ball busting, it usually meant that she wanted to fuck you, which was a goddamn terrifying prospect. It’s not that he disliked her, per se, it was more that JJ was always at eleven and he preferred to keep things at a six. Even so, he’d rather be travelling with her than with the Ayn Softies.

“Good day, Ms. Decay. Miss me already?”

“Missin’ ya more than that guy with the shotgun, anyway.” He sighed and put his free hand over his eyes for a moment. _God damn it, Jess._ _“_ Ya busy?”

“Uh.” He briefly looked back at the gaggle of disciples standing nearby. They were playfully jeering at the new guy, who was puking on the side of the road. “No. What’s up?”

“Needja to get me a few cars.” That perked him up some. Stealing cars was a snap. People had this wonderful habit of leaving their keys in their car when Jazz was around. Might give him the chance to offload some of these kids too.

“What kind?”

“Lesse…We’re gonna have four people. Between zero and three’ll be fucked up and’ll need to be able to stretch out a bit.” He heard her tongue click a few times, which was one of her many tells that a bad joke was on its way. “And it’ll need ample room to accommodate all of the sexy that clings to me.”

“Cup holders are standard in cars, JJ.”

“Aw, fuck you.”

“Get in line, darlin’.” He checked his reflection in the windshield and smoothed out a bit of flyaway hair.

“Go fondle your pomp, ya fuckin’ grease monkey. Wait, you’re ok for this, right? You’re not messed up or anything, right?” Jazz shifted his weight to try and ease the throbbing in his lower back. He appreciated that she’d asked and he knew that it was a sincere question. Yeah, she was kind of entitled and more than a little insane and her sense of personal boundaries was incredibly poor and she never shut up but she did care about people. Real people, anyway.

“Like some redneck could keep me down.” he responded, cockily. She laughed sharply.

“Way I heard it, it’s more like he kept ya up!” He heard someone else, probably Clara Cyte, laughing in the background. “But seriously, we’re glad you’re ok.”

“Hi, Jazz!” Clara called. His heart lifted a little at the sound of her voice. _Hey there, angel._

“Give my regards to Ms. Cyte, would ya please?” He kneeled, carefully, picked his tire iron up, and used his free hand to start tightening the lug nuts. He heard JJ say something or another.

“He knows who I am!” he heard Clara announce with mock amazement and an exaggerated gasp. He laughed and smiled. Forget what he’d thought earlier, _that_ was probably going to be the high point of his day.

“Where d’ya need ‘em?” Planning with JJ was never easy. She had the attention span of a drunken goldfish. He hoped against hope that Clara had already thought of that.

“At least one in Texas. Lemme get back to you on the rest of it.” He suppressed a groan. “Has the circus moved on?”

“No way. Ya got another month at least, I think. Speakin’ of which, when do you need them by?” There was a pause as he heard her talking with Clara.

“Tuesday!”

“JJ—“

“Thanks! Bye!” She hung up. Jazz snickered to himself and turned the phone off. _Gonna be the death of me._ He’d pull it off though. Shit always worked out eventually. That was kinda his thing. She was damned lucky that he was in Nebraska and had just finished up his last mission. It had been slightly more perplexing than usual, which wasn’t surprising, considering that it’d come from Neuromancer. He recalled the exact assignment:

 

“I neeja’ta get fifty novelty rubber duckies and I need there ta not be any duplicates and I especially neeja’ta not ask why and I especially especially neeja’ta not tell anyone about this.”

“Is this for Kiss?”

“Yeah, but don’t tell anyone. Fuck, I shuldn’ta even told you, but I figger that’ll give ya some more incentive, yeah? Don’t tell nobody that I told you and don’t let her know. I can’t afford to lose my haircut privileges right now.”

“Isn’t Kiss a psychokinetic?”

“Aw, fuckleberries…”

 

He finished tightening the lug nuts and stood up, just a bit too quickly. He managed to get a hand on the hood of the car and tried to make it look like he had meant to lean against it. They hadn’t been looking anyway. It looked like they were all busy blue skying about Tomorrow’s Starlight, yet again. He whistled for their attention. They all looked over like a bunch of puppies hearing the dinner bell. He hid his laughter behind another cocky smile. The Ayn Softies were cute, even if they were a giant pain in his ass.

“Who here’s up to steal some cars?” The four of them started tripping over themselves to volunteer. “Well, that ain’t no way to talk to your commanding officer. Yinz line up and sound off!” He was so glad he had thought of this a while back. He could never be bothered to remember the Ayn Softies’ names and they usually didn’t stay around too long anyway. The four of them got in a line and did as they, and who even knew how many others, had done many times before.

“Rachel! Yes, sir!” called the skinny, blonde, Asian, chick who dreamed of moving into a loft in Brooklyn and had been so, _so,_ excited to articulate the third adjective to Jazz.

“Jackson! Yes, sir!” agreed the guy with dreadlocks that had “burner” written all over him.

“Curtis! Yes, sir!” enthused the guy who was both the gayest dancer and best non-somakinetic grappler that Jazz had ever met.

“Gwen! Yes, sir!” squeaked the mousey former women’s studies major and trust fund baby with the nice rack.

 _Bless their hearts_. The last one was the only one who hadn’t irritated him yet today. The first one had spilled some kind of ridiculously elaborate and overpriced coffee on him, which had resulted in the flat and would have burned a lesser man. The second had been yakking about spirituality whenever he got that chance, and the third one had gabbed about bounce artists every time the second one had shut up for more than a breath. Jazz hadn’t even known that “bounce” was a thing before meeting him. Now he knew more about Big Freedia than he did about his hometown.

“Alright then! Fall in and let’s get started!” They quickly packed away Jazz’s tools and piled back into the car. As he started to drive off, the fourth one spoke up.

“Sir?”

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” He smiled at her in the rear view mirror. She was young. Late teens, probably.

“Can you…you know. Do that thing again?” She sounded embarrassed to ask. He grinned reassuringly.

“Whaddya wanna listen to, darlin’?”

“The Pretty Reckless?” The others made noises of enthusiastic agreement.

“Alright.” He snapped his fingers, totally unnecessarily. He already knew that he’d made it happen, but the Ayn Softies liked a bit of a show and he was nothing if not a performer. He turned on the XM radio and, sure enough, “Why’d You Bring A Shotgun To The Party” came on. He let himself enjoy the looks of amazement for a moment before continuing. “Now, who here wants to learn how to make a slim ji—dammit!” A cop car was gaining on them, siren blaring and lights flashing. As it neared them, a semi-truck passed by Jazz’s Caddy, veered over the double yellow line, and clipped the cop car. As the cab turned sharply and the cop car spun away, the padlock on the truck’s cargo trailer snapped, the doors flew open, and boxes started spilling out onto the road.

One box was launched out of the back of the truck and ricocheted off of the windshield of a car that was speeding towards the semi. The box flew through the Caddy’s open rear window, where it landed in Gwen’s lap. Jazz brought the car to a screeching halt as a pickup truck swerved in front of him, presumably in a panicked and counterintuitive attempt to avoid the budding pileup. As both vehicles stopped, less than a car length apart, a small, skinny, brown, dog jumped out of the bed of the pickup and ran over to the Caddy, leapt into Jazz’s open window, skipped across him, and curled up in Rachel’s lap. Jazz gunned it, swerving around the pickup and making his escape. No one followed them. No one could, with that mess. Everyone was sitting in stunned silence. The improbably cute little terrier put a paw on Jazz’s shoulder and kissed him on the cheek, wagging its tail meekly. Gwen open the box and looked inside.

“Ice cream sandwiches…” After a beat, all four of the disciples started cheering and chanting Jazz’s name. He smirked cheekily, heart pounding. _It ain’t easy bein’ a rock star._


	15. Whatever time, day, and year we tell you it is.

“True patriotism hates injustice in its own land more than anywhere else.”

\- Clarence Darrow

 

“I am sure you are aware, but this could have all been avoided rather easily.” Maxwell arranged his toys on the table in front of him. Normally, he found the harsh lighting in these facilities jarring, but he enjoyed the way it made them shine. He paused to look over his shoulder at McGrath. The poor man had been stripped of his PhD and was strapped into a gurney, naked, except for the black bag over his head and the gag underneath. He toyed with the idea of asking what it was like to be on the other side of the bag for once, but decided to keep talking to a minimum. Time was a funny thing when you couldn’t see. It just stretched on and on, each second filling your head with all of the things that could be lurking just inches away. Maxwell regarded his toys, closed his eyes, smiled blissfully, and allowed himself to enjoy the moment before continuing. He considered his options before selecting his, technically The Institute’s, wartenberg wheel. He’d privately nicknamed it “Robert”.

“I think it might be prudent to discuss resource management.” He slowly walked over to McGrath, speaking as though he were giving a new employee some helpful encouragement on how to improve performance. Maxwell often functioned as something of a motivational speaker. He was quite the charmer. “Think of The Institute as a body. You could say that resources are the life blood of the body.” McGrath started breathing more heavily and writhing. “Now, let us say that the skin of a body is analogous to the security of The Institute, in that one of its primary functions is to ensure that resources are not lost and that harmful agents cannot simply invade the body at any time. Would you agree that this is accurate?” He paused to listen to McGrath’s muffled verbalizations of general discomfort and distress. “Good! Now, no organization is perfect. Obviously, there will be breaches here and there, despite our best efforts…” He firmly pressed the wheel into McGrath’s chest and slowly ran it down to just above his naval, leaving a trail of small spots of blood. “…causing us to lose these resources. However,” McGrath screamed as Maxwell slammed the wheel into McGrath’s stomach and left it standing in the flesh. McGrath always had been a bit of a baby. “even security breaches that are larger than normal often result in a loss that can be replenished, given time and materials. For example, you’re not going to bleed to death from any of those tiny, little, pinpricks.” Maxwell walked back to the table and selected a new toy before returning and removing the bag from McGrath’s head. McGrath’s eyes were just so wonderfully emotive. Maxwell wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen anyone look so frightened and felt a touch flattered. He smiled as he decided not to say that aloud. Bragging was unbecoming of a man of his station. He gave McGrath a winning smile. “Before we continue, I should mention that no one who would do anything about this knows where you are.” McGrath started screaming something around the gag. Maxwell sighed lightly and pulled it out of his mouth. “Pardon?”

“My fami—“

“Your family! No, do not worry. We have sorted that out already. They will not be looking for anyone.” He stroked McGrath’s hair gently. “And vice versa.” McGrath, predictably, strained against his restraints and started to yell something before Maxwell silenced him with a backhand. McGrath lay there, stunned. Blood leaked out of his nose. Maxwell had always been exceptionally strong, even before he had been found by his employer. It was amazing how often people forgot that.

“I will ask you to not interrupt me again, please. In any case, the previous analogy mainly works for things like vehicles, equipment, and so on. Now, when it comes to things like…” Maxwell became deathly serious and his voice grew cold. “…espers, it does not quite apply. Blood is useful and necessary, but the body has quite a lot of it and can produce more. When it comes to overall utility, scarcity, and ease of replacement, an esper is more like a finger.” McGrath finally seemed to notice the cigar cutter in Maxwell’s hand. “Now…” Maxwell roughly grabbed McGrath’s right middle finger and quickly cut off the first two knuckles. Blood sprayed onto his suit. Maxwell shouted to be heard over McGrath’s screaming. “…see the associated loss! You have not just lost the esper, you have lost all of the resources that went into them! Time! Money! Training! Medical care! Psychological care! Housing! All of that is gone! And the best you can hope to do!...” Maxwell tossed the finger away and focused on McGrath’s bleeding stump until it burst into flames. Maxwell didn’t put it out until he was sure it was cauterized. There was no such thing as being too careful when it came to infections. “…is cut your losses!” He decided to give McGrath, and himself, a moment to breathe. The screaming and sobbing was rather soothing.

“What I am getting at is that you were careless with some major resources and it has resulted in a substantial loss. One that we cannot easily replace. You did not represent The Institute in a way that inspires loyalty and I would like to share with you the story of a man who could.” Maxwell spent the next several minutes sharing long-winded personal anecdotes about his own mentor and using them to describe the ways in which McGrath could improve his managerial style, output, general hygiene, and overall competence. He had spent a substantial amount of time beforehand putting all of this information together and designing the presentation to be both as boring and as irritating as possible. He understood the value of variety. McGrath tried to speak up at one point, but Maxwell’s retrieving a pair of pliers from the table and approaching with a meaningful look on his face had shut him up rather effectively. When he was tired of this method, he decided to move onto his main topic.

“You know, we were willing to overlook some of your activities, but between this recent incident and your indiscretions…” The blood drained from McGrath’s face as Maxwell smiled down at him. “Oh, I am sorry. Did you think no one knew? Why did you think you were relocated away from the cadets?” Maxwell laughed heartily before slapping McGrath hard across the face. He had been waiting for this. He had _earned_ this. “You know, if it had been one or the other, maybe you would not be here.” McGrath started begging. Not for anything in particular, just begging like a beaten dog. Maxwell paced around the gurney slowly, keeping his eyes locked with McGrath’s. He tapped the pliers against his palm lightly and rhythmically.

“They had so much hope for you. You know, we train the finest soldiers in the world because we want to protect the greatest country in the world. How many out there are like myself and the other agents? Maybe one in five hundred thousand people has the potential, yes? Of those, how many will find their gift? Of those, how many will we recruit before The Zodiac Order or Abraxis or those other terrorist organizations get their hands on them and start using them to murder police officers and bomb buildings?” No response. McGrath had started to cry again. “Of the ones we recruit, how many wash out or are killed each year?” No response. His mouth was opening and closing, like some pathetic, disgusting, fish. Maxwell loved his job. “And you…decided that our newest American heroes should be your playthings. I would ask why, but Agent Stokeworth has already informed me that you enjoyed the rush. She informed a great many people. It is a shame she cannot be here, but she will see you soon. She is looking forward to it. I do suspect that she may thank you, this will probably finally push her proposal through.” Maxwell stopped pacing and smiled as wide as he could. “I cannot imagine why you were so opposed to her training protocols. It is almost as if you found them restrictive. Thoughts?” Maxwell savored the moment. McGrath’s fear was delicious. He choked out something unintelligible. He was probably quite dehydrated, in addition to everything else. “Sorry, say that again please?” McGrath swallowed hard and, with visible effort, finally managed to speak.

“…Di’ me’ too…”

“Try again.” McGrath took a deep breath and managed to excrete words from his face once more.

“I...d’mean to.” Maxwell was mildly incredulous.

“Are you saying that you didn’t mean to?” McGrath nodded. This piece of human garbage was going to insult him with that weak of an excuse? Maxwell took a slow, deep breath.

“Didn’t mean to? How exactly does one do those things by accident?” Maxwell chuckled before backhanding this worthless, inept, tax burden again. Maxwell roughly grabbed him by the throat and slammed his head into the gurney. He put his face right up to that of the sniveling, unpatriotic, lazy, weak willed, disgusting, son of a bitch. “ _HOW DOES ONE DO THAT BY ACCIDENT??”_ His voice echoed off of the plain, white, walls. McGrath whimpered and sobbed. Maxwell was going to enjoy their days together.

“They were not accidents.” McGrath shook his head. “No, you meant to do those things, yes?” He nodded, tears streaming down his face. He was trying to say something but it just came out as mewling. Maxwell gave him a moment before continuing. “It is good to admit it, yes? You did a very bad thing and you need to make up for it.” McGrath nodded again, more slowly this time. His breathing was slowing down a bit too. “Well, you only need one eye to atone, yes?” McGrath screamed as Maxwell quickly brought the pliers up to his right eye before looking up and moving away. “Then again!” He gestured with the pliers as he spoke, pacing back and forth in front of the gurney. “In a way, you were testing the cadets under pressure. It’s important that they can function under extreme duress and, apparently, they can. Abraxis also exposes their espers to extreme situations, different kinds of extreme situations I grant you, for just that reason. Is that correct?” After a moment McGrath nodded slowly. God, the pathetic cretin looked absolutely desperate. Maxwell stopped pacing and nodded understandingly at McGrath. “I _hate_ Abraxis.”

Maxwell walked to the foot of the gurney in a businesslike fashion and slowly began ripping out the nail on McGrath’s right big toe. His screaming and begging didn’t do much to keep it from being removed, but Maxwell appreciated his vocal range. Unfortunately, just barely after he was done removing the nail, he heard his cellphone ring. He politely excused himself and apologized for the delay before walking over to the table and retrieving his phone from the pocket of his suit jacket.

“Nevidio.”

“They made it into Hooper’s apartment this time.” Agent Stokeworth sounded as cold and brisk as ever.

“Damage?”

“Three hostiles bagged and tagged. Hooper’s critical but stable.” A dull feeling of panic welled up inside of him, but he kept smiling, like he always did.

“…Why is he in that state?”

“No official word.” Judging by her tone of voice, she had figured it out and she knew that he had as well.

“How did they find him?”

“No official word yet, but they knew when he’d be home and where he slept. I’m being relocated.”

“Have they been IDed yet?”

“I don’t know. I’m being kept on a need to know basis on this.”

“What do you need from me then?”

“Nothing, at present, but be careful and be ready to move. We’re working on a new asset. If we secure it, it should fix a great deal of our problems. What’s your status?” Maxwell picked up a new toy and walked back to McGrath.

“Oh, I am just taking care of some—“, he viciously stabbed a scalpel through McGrath’s right hand and left it stuck in the gurney. He waited for the initial scream to die down before continuing, “— disciplinary measures. It is my day off, after all.”

“Is that McGrath?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

"I look forward to spending some time with him soon.” Maxwell emphasized each of his next few sentences with a twist of the scalpel.

“Do not be too hard on him, please. I thought of a way he can still help us. It will be fun and educational. For everyone.”

“I trust you’ll make the right decisions. We’ll talk more soon.” She hung up without saying goodbye, as was Stokeworth’s custom. Some people were just cold, he supposed. Maxwell walked over to the previously discarded finger and picked it up.

“I apologize. This is yours.” He placed it upon McGrath’s chest. He was barely conscious. “I suppose that that is enough for today. You have a new assignment.” He clapped McGrath chummily on the shoulder. “We are going to be working closely together in the future. I promise.”


	16. Sunday, July 26th, Whatever Time It Needs To Be.

Surrendered to self-preservation,

from others who care for themselves.

A blindness that touches perfection,

but hurts just like anything else.

_\- Joy Division “Isolation”_

Rose was back in the lab. She couldn’t feel her body; it wasn’t there yet. She was moving down the hall, slowly and deliberately. Her breathing was ragged and loud. Debris and garbage littered the floor, just barely illuminated by the dim red lights along the ceiling. There were no windows. She was deep underground. If she went back up, they would hurt her. She lived here now. She was approaching an open door to her left. All of the doors were open down here. A musky scent was filling the air and she could hear them skittering. She stopped at the door and looked inside. Children’s beds, the frames rusted and the mattresses ripped open, haphazardly littered a large room. Five spiders the size of dogs were scurrying around, setting up webbing between the bed frames. Their abdomens were brains. _They’re ice inside._ They wouldn’t hurt her now. She lived here now. They all stopped and turned to her.

“Get the fuck out of here, fat ass.” One of them sounded exactly a bully from school. She couldn’t remember his name anymore.

“Stupid dyke.” So did that one. Weird. She wasn’t mad. They got that way when they were annoyed. A third one waved its front legs in the air after her and hissed before speaking.

“I’m sorry, honey. Go take a nap.”

“Okay, Jim.” The others had already gone back to their work. Those four were always mad because the blink wolves and espers made fun of them. Jim was nice though. Rose would never understand why he hung out with the others. They wouldn’t eat her if she slept there because she wasn’t there yet. She didn’t want to nap here though. Rose turned away and kept walking. The children were out again, running through the walls and laughing. They were all wearing hospital gowns. They wanted to know what happened when you died twice. They wanted her to tell them; she was the adult, after all.

“Not too much.” She choked out. She hoped they didn’t want to know about the other times you died. She felt tired. Her voice sounded awful, like she had a sore throat. Her breathing was getting louder and she was wheezing. They weren’t paying attention to her anymore. Soon enough they were all gone. Maybe they were going to tease the spiders. Did Jim like children? _I don’t think he’s got a girlfriend._ She walked further down the hall. There was a dripping sound in the distance. _How did I get out the first time?_ Could she? Did she even want to?

“You can come home, you know.” _I am home. I live here now._ “Come back after this. Take a break.” A phone rang. It was him again. Maybe a talk wouldn’t be so bad right now.

The sound was coming from another door, coming up on her right. That was her room. She lived here now. She entered the doorway. There was a payphone in a tiny, padded cell. It was bright and clean in here, but barely big enough for her and the phone. She hated her room. She picked up the phone and tried to speak, but her voice was completely gone. Even her breathing was silent now.

“Hello?” Little brother’s voice came over the receiver instead of the other guy’s. Rose tried to speak again. Nothing happened. “Have you seen my sister?” A beat passed as she tried to remember how to say words. She heard him sigh.

“Is she there?” Littler brother asked in the background.

“I don’t think she lives there anymore.” She heard Lindsea chime in. _Yes, I do._

“Let’s try the next number.” Little brother hung up. She wasn’t upset. _They’ll call again._ She would just sleep until they did. Best way to get someone to call you is to take a nap or leave the phone. She sank down onto the white floor and closed her eyes.

“No.” _Jeremy?_ “Not here. Go find it.” She rolled onto her stomach. The snow must have been at least two feet thick. She stood up and looked around. Trees and mountains and snow and sky. Something was watching her. _Should I fly? You can’t fly yet, silly girl._

Rose walked, following her shadow. She wanted to ask where they were going, but it might leave. It hadn’t hurt her before, so she trusted it. _Some lessons aren’t meant to be learned. Good girl, you’re learning._ _Heh, I see what you did there._ Rose walked for a long time. Snow clung to her arctic camo pants and the pine tree branches scratched at her black, silk, suit jacket. She was wearing a burgundy blouse underneath it. It was good to be prepared. _Do you need a gun? No. Are you sure? No._ _Maybe we should go home. No, that would be learning. Now you’re getting it._

If she fell, she stood up but something was also picking her up. If she stopped walking, she started again but it felt like something was pushing her along. _Thank us. We’re welcome._ Rose chuckled slightly, it sounded raspy and deep. She was being watched the whole time, but she didn’t bother to look around her. She’d never been able to see it before anyway.

Miles and miles later, she came to a cliff. It was steep and rocky and covered with snow and ice. Rose grabbed onto the lowest rock and began to climb. It wasn’t as steep as she had thought. As long as she stayed on all fours, she’d be ok. _Where were you? I was right there._ She paused and put her nose close the rock, sniffing. She licked her lips and snorted before continuing. There was fire in the rock and the sky was ice. She was alone here. They didn’t hunt here. She lived here now. When she was done, she would climb the tallest tree she could find. _Come with me? Of course._

As she finally crested the slope, she saw the charred husk of the two-story log cabin. The wall closest to her was mostly gone. It was amazing that there was this much left. Looking at it made her feel a bit sad. She reared onto her hind legs and sniffed the air. It still smelled like fire. She dropped back onto all fours and walked past the old wooden shed and the fire pit. The cabin looked smaller with its innards exposed. Most things did, actually. She stepped through the ruined wall. A thick layer of books was scattered on the floor. The floor was books too. Millions of books, probably, if she dug down deep enough. She didn’t want most of them though. Not yet, anyway. She closed her eyes and concentrated as she spread her forelimbs out in front of her. She didn’t need eyes for this.

She breathed in through her nose, slowly and deliberately. She smelled it, very faintly, but it was there: rain, blood, earth, fire, fear, deer meat, sickness, whisky, and sweat. She rooted through the books, following the scent. She felt herself sink into the books as she pawed through them. That’s why it was still okay, because it had been buried so deep. The scent got stronger as she got closer to it. She had to keep moving. If she stopped moving she’d lose it. She wouldn’t lose it. Anything lost could be found and anything that couldn’t be found could be replaced and anything that couldn’t be replaced shouldn’t be. Finally, she felt her hand grasp a small, softcover, leather-bound, book. There it was. It felt unlike any other book. It felt like seeing a friend again. As she pulled it towards herself, she heard Jeremy again.

“You wrote in it? Well, I guess it belongs to you then.” _It belongs to us._ “Of course it does.” _Good job._ They’d be proud when they called again. They would want it back too. She opened her eyes. She was on all fours, holding the book in her right hand. It was a hand again. The cave was small and cozy and warm. She lived here now. She liked it here. She sat cross-legged and looked down at the book. It was bigger now. “The Lies of The Saints” was carved into the cover. She’d go back for the other book later. She ran her hands over the cover. It made her skin feel electrified. She heard voices faintly whispering to her.

“You’re such a good attack bear.”

“I can make it go away for you.”

“Fuck you, Rose.”

“Haircuts and tattoos?”

“Ain’t ya ever hearda honor among thieves?”

“If yer gonna pop, do it over there!”

“I like you too.”

“This is as sorry as I get.”

“You got all your kids; where’s mine?!”

“I’ll never be found because I am not hiding.”

“How are you feeling today, Ms. Klinge?”

“Be careful with this shit. If you’re addicted to it, then you’re addicted to it pretty much forever.”

“Do you think John would ever betray us?”

“Weird that we haven’t seen any cops.”

“Never trust a girl.”

“I’ve got cars in my garage that cost more than that.”

“Where did y’all say you were staying again?”

“Please don’t move. Please don’t say anything.”

“C’mon, now. We’re a family.”

This was what she was for. This is what she had to do. She pressed her forehead to the cover; the voices were still talking. Still filling her with memories and words. She was a vessel. She knew how to do it now. She stood up out of her body, which was still touching the book to her forehead. She looked down on herself. She was wearing the black suit again and a deer pelt was wrapped around her shoulders. _We made that together; thought we lost that. Didn’t you just say something about lost things? True. I’m glad you liked you when us found me. It took some getting used to. Understandable._

Rose decided to try going back to the cabin. It was probably safe to leave herself there for a little while. Before she could move, she felt a jolt go through her, as though she had stumbled. She was lying on her side in a bed now. Her vision was blurry and dark. She couldn’t move. Someone was pressed against her back. It was warm here. Someone was rubbing her arm. The books could wait. She didn’t want to go just yet. She had missed this. Someone softly and slowly kiss her temple. It was safe here. Which one was here? She heard a sound and blinked. When she opened her eyes again, she was alone and, after a moment, realized that she was in the camper’s bed. She groaned slightly and curled into the fetal position as she became fully aware of her hangover. She needed to eat. She was shaking slightly and felt like she had drank too much coffee. She needed to move.

She slowly, and with difficulty, pulled herself upright and stood up. The camper wasn’t moving. Clara was asleep in the top bunk. JJ was nowhere to be seen. Rose needed air. She felt like she was going to suffocate in here. What books? There was no way any books had been left. They hadn’t left that book there, had they? They couldn’t have.

She slowly and carefully walked to the door. She didn’t want to wake Clara and falling all over herself would probably do it. What fucking time was it? She stumbled into the brisk early morning air. _It was nice, even if it was only for a second. We need to go back for the second book. Is it still there? Maybe. Don’t worry about it right now._ As she stood outside, she noticed that she felt a bit more like herself than usual.

 


	17. Sunday, July 26th, 7:00 a.m.

Come on my atomic picnic

Bring your shades, I’ll bring champagne  


\- _Tied For Last “Atomic Picnic”_

 

JJ was leaning against the side of the camper, enjoying the rising sun and the way the morning dew sparkled on the grass. People would be doing that back home. Some of them, anyway. Someone was always awake at home, even if it was just the lookouts. She had decided to leave her coat, weapons, and ammo belts inside and was relaxing in baggy black pants, a new Tied For Last t-shirt that she’d scored at Otto’s (red, naturally), and a pair of cheap, wool gloves. It had been a very good morning. She’d woken up, happy before she’d even opened her eyes, to discover that she was in the big spoon position with Rose, an arm wrapped around her stomach. Rose wasn’t particularly warm or soft, which wasn’t surprising given the way she ate, but JJ had still giggled slightly. She had even taken the opportunity to give her abs a little grope. Rose’s body was too hard, it was almost like a boy’s, but that was fixable so whatever. JJ liked boys too anyway. She would have gone higher, and possibly lower (it’s not like being underweight made those too hard), but Cyte had pulled over and kicked her out of the bed. Cyte could always tell when people were awake, even if they were trying to hide it. Stupid brain mojo.

Rose would feel nicer with more meat on her bones, but it’s not like they had been with each other long enough for anything to be done about that. It got on her nerves a bit, honestly. Like food insecurity wasn’t fuckin’ common enough for espers away from home. Still, most espers had at least one disorder and eating disorders weren’t terribly uncommon. Substance abuse and being kind of cunty were the grand daddies though. At least Rose wasn’t as bad as that guy who would set himself on fire and try to hug people when his brain chemistry fucked up. That had taken a whole lot of fixing and some creative arm locks. Time Bomb wasn’t so bad now though. The set-self-on-fire-hug-bitches thing was kinda funny too, when he did it to the bad guys. It was a shame that he and JJ hadn’t worked out.

She briefly entertained the idea of setting some nearby trees on fire. Instead, she pulled her trusty zippo out of her pocket and started considering the objects around her. Nothing too flammable, besides the grass. Even that was wet from the dew though.

In any case, JJ wasn’t worried about Rose; she’d seen this shit a million times. They’d be home soon and Cyte was a fucking wizard with brain mojo, so everything would be fine. Cyte did brain tune-ups for people sometimes but it took a lot out of her so it was mostly done at home and she had some weird ethical hang-ups about it. Ethics bored the shit out of JJ. What’s right is right and what’s wrong is wrong; what’s the fucking mystery? Cyte always overcomplicated shit, but her heart was in the right place, so whatever.

Speaking of home, JJ and Cyte were due for a long break after this was all sorted. JJ wondered if Rose’d hang out at the compound after whatever treatment they gave her; she hoped so. Seemed like it would do her some good, ‘specially the love bombing part. ‘Specially if she got over this dumbass self-punishment bullshit she was doing to herself, which she probably would have to do on her own, mostly. Cyte generally didn’t go that far with the brain tune-ups; she said it was better for people to grow and learn to cope trauma on their own but JJ suspected that it was because it took like an extra four hours to sort out the kind of baggage that was incurred after surviving your first cell wipeout. It was never as bad as your first time. Still, surviving a cell wipeout was better than not surviving a cell wipeout. It had probably been best that JJ’s had been early. First period wasn’t shit next to that. Less bloody too.

It was sad when your friends died, which was probably what happened to Rose’s old cell (not that JJ was gonna say that, fucking Hell), but espers were gods. Gods didn’t really die; they just get reborn with even better powers. JJ was pretty sure of that anyway. Most espers had only been born once, near as she could tell. JJ especially liked the ones who had been reborn a lot, like Dad. JJ was still young; maybe she’d been reborn two or three times, but it’s not like there was a real way for her to measure that. Cyte had probably been reborn at least four times. Rose was supposed to be pretty impressive, but JJ hadn’t seen her do much with her powers yet so she wasn’t sure how many times she’d been born. Maybe JJ could coax a little demonstration out of her; everyone knew that the teleks liked to show off, what with their fuckin’ brain hackey sack and brain juggling and brain disarming (which was never not hilarious to watch). Maybe she even qualified for a title. It wasn’t something you earned, as much as it was shorthand to let the others know what you could do and fuck knew that The Zodiac Order loved its fuckin’ nicknames. They had a lot of fun with them too. Cyte used to be a Mindfucker, but she’d learned how to be good at Osmoses too, so they called her a Succubus now. Christ knows what they would call her if she got better at scrying. Rose was probably a Poltergeist, JJ had seen her use a Barrier after all, but she might be a Bruiser or even a Juggernaut. JJ herself was a Nuke. Snappy and to the point, just like her.

JJ figured that the ones who didn’t qualify for a title were the newborns; dad had said that the presence of psionic powers had been increasing in the world, so it made sense that the bulk of her siblings weren’t that powerful. Except for Skuzz. Skuzz probably wasn’t a newborn. Skuzz was probably more like the afterbirth from some better esper being reborn. JJ had once wondered aloud if that was why there were more espers around now. Clara had pretended not to listen, probably so that she wouldn’t have to admit that JJ was right.

JJ noticed a beetle scurrying through the grass. It was too small to be much fun though. A june bug, that would do the trick. JJ fucking hated june bugs. She made a noise of mild irritation as it became apparent that nothing fun was crawling in the grass and fished a dollar bill out of her pocket. She stripped off a glove and crumpled the money in her bare hand.

Anyway, Rose was definitely a somakinetic, but JJ had no idea how good she was at it. A lot of espers were just naturally really strong or really fast. Cyte had once told her that a starving or malnourished soma could be ripped as fuck and die of organ failure because they just didn’t lose muscle mass and they could succumb to starvation faster than a normal human since their bodies were so resistant to cannibalizing their own muscle tissue. It must be weird to have that kind of weakness. Something about them constantly working out. Something about gravity. The Order didn’t really understand how it worked, along with a lot of their powers, but who cares?

JJ nodded her head slightly as she realized something: Rose went through a pretty crazy amount of juice in a day; that was probably her main source of calories. JJ giggled slightly; ‘Riz had done something similar after The Shop had killed his mom. That had been a good time for the two of them; junkies were so romantic. Well, it had been good for JJ anyway; ‘Riz got all weird for a while. Shame that they hadn’t worked out. They were still thick as thieves though. Cyte had taught her that expression.

JJ supposed that it must have been weird to have an increased weakness to starvation but none to atrophy. Was that worse than a Nuke’s weakness? It was the same as a Hearstopper’s weakness: your own powers could fucking kill you if you overdid it. It didn’t even take an overload. It didn’t happen often though; entro was rare and necro was almost unheard of. Scream and Neuromancer were so lucky. Neuro didn’t seem to like doing it though. She was kinda weird in general. Shame that she and JJ hadn’t worked out. Apparently there had been a betting pool on who would break it off. Neuro and JJ had both gotten a cut of the pool though, which had mostly been snortable, so they had both processed quickly.

JJ ignited the dollar and put her lighter away. She wasn’t quite ready for her happiness ritual, but she wanted a little appetizer and this would do. She loosely closed her hand around the burning money, letting the small flames lick up through her fingers. The warmth was nice.

Necrokinesis was sexy, but JJ was especially fond of somakinetics, especially when she was faster than they were. It was point of personal pride. Maybe she and Rose could race sometime. Somas liked to show off even more than regular teleks, so she raced with them a lot. Her big brother had especially liked to show off. He’d been a soma since before the time JJ could walk. His name had been Simon, but everyone had called him Brick. He had been skinny but she’d seen him beat a motherfucker with a motorcycle once. With one hand. That had been such a good birthday.

She still missed him, sometimes. She had male siblings who were older than she was, but he had been the only one to really feel like a big brother. He’d had a different mom, but that didn’t matter. A lot of her siblings weren’t actually related to her and none of them had the same mom as her. He’d been as real a big bro as she could have ever wanted though. She’d cried when she’d heard about what happened to him. She had manifested that day because of it, all over the Shop cunt who had run his mouth at her. She’d felt Simon there with her when it happened too. He would have been so stoked on her when she manifested; it had been so pretty. He would have been so stoked to see her now too. He would have liked Cyte too. Simon probably would have been a bluejack by now. If he’d been reborn yet, he was probably a psyker. Maybe they’d meet again, even though they probably wouldn’t know each other. He’d like her though. Everyone liked JJ. JJ breathed deeply and brought herself back to this world. Dwelling on the past wasn’t healthy, in JJ’s experience. _Well, anyway…_

JJ closed her fist around what was left of the dollar and brushed the extinguished remains off of her hands before putting her glove back on. Now she was in the mood for her happiness ritual. JJ raised her hands in front of her face and concentrated on the tip of her right index finger. That happy, relaxed, feeling came over her and a small flame appeared. She grinned, admiring the fire for a moment before touching her index fingers together. After the fire caught on the other one, she touched all of her finger tips to fire, one by one, until each one had flames happily dancing across them. The fire felt warm and ticklish.

She admired the flames as they spread. They were so beautiful. Her thoughts started to speed up, as they often did during her happiness ritual. Cyte had told her that she usually didn’t read JJ’s thoughts when she was doing it. Cyte told her a lot of things.

Cyte had once told her that in some ancient civilization they’d had a big, hollow, brass, bull with some kinda musical reed in the mouth. They would put criminals in it and light a fire underneath. Their screams would come out as music as they burned alive. JJ wanted one, but she liked the raw, unedited, screams of immolation as they were. Either way, if she got one she would put every member of The Institute and Abraxis and Eschaton and The Red Orchestra and Aleph that she could get her hands on in it and burn and burn and burn and burn and burn and burn and burn and burn and burn them and make music for her friends. Her friends loved music. Did Rose like music? Most Order espers were big fans of Tomorrow’s Starlight but she got kind of a resistant vibe from their shiny, new, meat shield. She should ask her about it at some point. Might get her to speak. Cyte loved music as much as JJ did, even if her taste wasn’t as good as JJ’s. JJ had once met a disciple who had said that he heard music in everything. JJ had shunted him off onto Jazz as soon as possible. She giggled again, thinking about Jazz making that face that he always made when he was overwhelmed. _Poor Jazz, I owe him a bottle._

As the fire fully engulfed her hands, JJ was reminded of a shitty poem she’d read somewhere once. Some bullshit about the world ending in fire or ice and the author wanting one more than the other. Fire would be JJ’s way to go. She could also make ice, but fire was just more fun. Faster results too. Muzzle flares were an especially fun kind of fire, not least because they gave away other people’s positions. Too bad they were gone so quick. JJ liked automatic weapons. Lots of muzzle flare, lots of mayhem. Quick and flashy: that was her style. Not like Cyte. Cyte was a sly dog. She could make people commit suicide but she always seemed annoyed by the fact that JJ found it hilarious. Cyte had once told her that the fire that burned twice as bright burned half as long. Not so with JJ, although maybe she didn’t burn twice as bright. Maybe, in her case, the half-life that decayed twice as fast lasted half as long? No, she decided, that wasn’t cool-sounding at all. JJ had been burning and dusting for a while now; maybe one day she’d learn how to Atomize people like dad could. Ending in fire is at least dazzling, even if it leaves nothing behind. Maybe it’s better to leave nothing behind. Maybe that makes rebirth easier.

Now, starving, maybe that’s what ending in ice would be? Rose was a telek. Blue was the telek’s color. Blue is cold and so is ice. Rose was a telek. Rose was starving. She was pretty cold too. She was a true blue then. That was kinda funny, in a fucked up way. Only because JJ wouldn’t let her starve, of course. The Zodiac Order took care of its own. None of them had died of starvation at home, as far as she knew. No reason for it to happen now.

Wait, if JJ was fire and Rose was ice but Cyte wasn’t ice in the same way that Rose was, then what was Cyte? What would ending in green be? Was suicide green? It had always been pretty red from where JJ was sitting, although that was because Cyte usually made people shoot themselves in the head. Honestly though, what was the point in living as a normal person? It seemed fucking miserable. Unless you were a disciple or someone else who was useful. Cyte had been a disciple when the two of them had met. Man, she’d turned out to be more useful than JJ would have ever hoped.

Actually, did Rose like Cyte better than JJ? Rose talked to her more. Not that she talked much at all. Of course, Cyte talked to JJ the most. JJ was her favorite, and rightly fucking so.

Wait, Rose had green hair, and she talked to Cyte the most, Cyte had pink hair, and that was a derivative of red, and her favorite esper was JJ, and JJ had blue hair, but it was two-tone, so maybe she liked Rose _and_ Cyte best but then she didn’t have green hair which was Cyte’s color because Cyte was a psyker and, holy shit, “psyker” and “Cyte” kind rhymed. How the tits had JJ never noticed that before? Wait, Cyte was cold but she was a psyker, not a telek. _She’s not really cold then, maybe?_ Maybe Cyte had been a telek in her last life? JJ had probably been a pyro the last time around too.

JJ would turn Rose onto red. Better red than dead. Not that she would kill Rose, she liked Rose. If someone told JJ to kill Rose or Cyte, JJ would kill the person who had tried to make her make that stupid fucking decision. Would Rose dye her hair if she liked JJ? If she liked entro better she should go burgundy and if she liked pyro better she should go crimson. Maybe JJ should dye her hair green instead of black, to make it fair to Cyte. JJ wondered if she would take the blue out of her if Rose ended up being an asshole. She had gone purple for a bit, after Neuro, but only because she hadn’t been that mad at Neuro. If JJ had been really pissed, she would have gone orange or something, but that might have been mean.

JJ buried her face in her hands, giggling intensely and taking care to keep them away from her hairline and eyebrows, just to be safe. Her fire had never hurt her, but she’d accidentally made herself look like a skin a few times and she was using more product than usual. Not that she was trying to impress anyone. It would be nice if Rose noticed how sick her hair was though because JJ could totally take things from there. Or if Cyte noticed. JJ wouldn’t say no to some fun with her either. Stupid heterosexuality, always getting in the way. JJ liked Rose’s hair color but, damn, it needed to be washed. Maybe she’d let JJ braid it. JJ had braided Cyte’s hair before she had started putting it in a pixie. She kinda missed it. She liked the way the pixie drew attention to her mouth though. Cyte had a pretty mouth.

JJ grinned to herself; fire gazing always gave her weird thinky thoughts. She took her hands off of her face before the beads in her captives could pop out. The fire on her hands was starting to die a bit. Woolen gloves were best for your shorter happiness rituals. People were better for your longer ones. Not real people, just the ones who weren’t down with The Order. _It’s been too long. That last chick was like a week ago._ JJ’s jaw clenched slightly as she remembered it. Her voice had gone much higher than JJ would have expected. JJ was, once again, snapped back to the present as the camper door swung open and Rose stepped out. JJ hadn’t actually looked to see; Cyte just moved much more quietly.

“S’up?” She heard Rose ask, shakily. Someone was hungover again. Qué sorpresa. JJ smirked, held her arms out straight, and made the fire on her hands flare up until the flames died and the gloves were no more. The chance for a long happiness ritual would come up soon. They often did on gigs. She began to rub the charred remnants of the gloves off of her hands before responding.

“Not much! S’up?” Her JJ sense told her to look; sure enough, Rose was leaning against the camper, facing away and partially hunched over. JJ stood up and managed to hold Rose’s hair back just before the violent retching started. JJ winced. _Don’t drink so much, dumbass…or at least cut yer fuckin’ hair._ She’d have to give Neuromancer a call. Neuro was an ace at helping the boozers. Maybe cuz she had to detox every other fuckin’ month. Well, practice did make perfect. _Izzat why I’m so good at being a sexy beast?_ Yes, she decided as she listened to the thin splattering of what was probably mostly stomach acid.

JJ rubbed Rose’s back as she finished, spat, and stood up. She was breathing heavily. JJ was actually kinda glad that Rose hadn’t eaten recently. It made the puddle less visible. JJ stated at her back, enjoying the way her muscle shirt clung to her figure and the definition on her shoulders, and the way her chest expanded and contracted and she wheezed and coughed. Christ, she looked like she was about to keel over. Junkie vulnerability was so cute. When it made them thin, anyway.

Cyte had been surprised that JJ hadn’t noticed Rose’s weird-ass anatomy, but JJ hadn’t exactly been focused on how much she was supposed to weight. On that note: _Will her tits get bigger if we get her to a healthy weight?_ All the more reason to see to that, JJ decided. Rose raised each shoulder in turn, cracking her back. Did she crack her knuckles before fighting? She had mentioned that she knew how to box. It was nice when people knew how to use their muscles, assuming that she wasn’t bullshitting.

JJ realized that she should say something, just so things wouldn’t feel awkward. Rose might feel judged if she didn’t, it was pretty obvious how insecure she was. Luckily, something came quickly and, in defiance of tradition, it was actually directly related to the situation at hand.

“Yanno, it’ll be Cyte’s turn tomorrow!” JJ announced, happily. Rose turned and looked at her, confused, as JJ knew she would. People did that to JJ a lot.

“…Whuh?” Tired and haggard, but not pissed off. Good start.

“I puked yesterday, you puked today, tomorrow it’s her turn. S’only fair!” Rose didn’t smile, which was totally fucking lame but she was probably feeling sick so JJ was willing to let that slide. As Rose coughed lightly, JJ had an idea. Now that they were alone, they could do JJ’s preferred ice breaker. Well, second preferred; getting naked and giving hugs was generally discouraged outside of the compound for some fucking stupid reason. “C’mere!” She took Rose by the arm and led her away from the spew puddle. For a traumatized, drunken, brick shithouse, who was supposed to be a violent bitch, Rose was pretty docile about being led around. Maybe she liked it when JJ did it. Everybody liked JJ. She sat Rose down in the grass and sat facing her, leaning back on her palms. “I like setting shit on fire! What do you like?” Rose gagged slightly before replying.

“…Um…Hittin’ shit….Drinkin’ shit…Breakin’ shit.” JJ grinned from ear to ear. She liked where this was going.

“Yeah?” Rose nodded, with a nervous half-smile. “D’ya like seeing other people break shit too?” Rose gave what might have been either a tiny laugh or a muscle spasm-induced exhalation.

“S’long as it’s not my shit, yeah.” _PERFECT!_ JJ excitedly held up and index finger and leaned towards Rose. They were actually making eye contact. This was going better than expected.

“Do you like seeing people break shit _creatively_?” JJ raised an eyebrow and cocked her head, smirking cheekily. Rose turned her head slightly and half grinned. Someone didn’t like looking people in the eyes when they were happy. How cute.

“S’good when people respect the craft.” _Good answer. Best answer._

“I know something you’d like!” _Besides a handle of Black Velvet, Drunky._ Rose leaned back on her palms, seeming to relax a bit. Or maybe the hangover had just weakened her too much to be tense. Either way. JJ looked around until she found what she was after. She pointed at her prize and scurried towards it. After some prying, she pulled the stone from the ground and brought it back to Rose. She sat back down, closer to the other woman this time, and held the stone out to her. This would be a nice, if belated, welcoming present. Getting to see entro without dying horribly was a rare treat and JJ enjoyed a bit of showmanship. It’d be better if they were fighting someone so she could show off in earnest but that could wait. Besides, in the off chance that someone drove by, there was no way in Hell they’d notice this, so Cyte wouldn’t get pissed, probably.

“Now! Ms…” _Shit…_ It occurred to JJ that she didn’t know Rose’s last name. She looked at Rose expectantly. Gotta make the audience feel like they were participating and all. Jazz had taught her that one.

“…Klinge.” Rose didn’t seem to mind.

“Ms. Klinge! Will you confirm that this is a normal rock?” Rose reached out and gave it a good squeeze.”

“Yeah, seems like.”

“Are you sure?”

“Myah.” Rose smiled slightly.

“Do you have any reason to believe that this rock is anything less than one hundred percent authentic rock cells or whatever?” Rose, despite being visibly hungover, seemed to be enjoying JJ’s playfulness. Most people did. Except cops.

“I…guess not, no.”

 “Can you attest that, to your knowledge, this rock as not been tampered with, altered, or otherwise—“

“Alright, get to the goddamn point!” Rose was snickering lightly and looking away from JJ again. JJ grinned. It was nice to see other people happy. Real people, anyway. Rose closed her eyes and took a deep breath. For a second JJ thought she was going to lie down on her side or start spewing again but her eyes snapped open again and she held herself up. _You take that hangover by the horns, buddy. You fuckin’ show it who’s boss!_

“Ok, watch and don’t touch.” JJ locked eyes with Rose for a moment and smiled reassuringly. She held the rock close to her chest across her flattened hands. She didn’t need to be touching it at this point in her esper career, but it hurt less and took less juice. She closed her eyes, concentrated, and silently counted. A burning sensation crept down her fingers and into her forearms, slowly intensifying. When you undid matter, it undid you a bit too. It wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle, and it wasn’t something you never recovered from, but it took longer than just throwing fire around and was certainly more effort. She wouldn’t trade it for the world though. It had saved her more than once. It was her namesake fer cryin’ out loud. When she was sure enough time had passed, she inhaled sharply and stopped focusing. The burning quickly retracted to her fingertips and disappeared, leaving a mild stinging sensation in its place. She opened her eyes and held it out to Rose again. She was handling it very delicately now, but she tried not to let it show. JJ shivered slightly as her forearms throbbed lightly. This was a good morning so far.

“Try it now.”

Rose reached out for the stone again. When she grabbed it, it disintegrated into dust. JJ giggled at the look on her face.

This was going much better than last time. She’d recently demonstrated entro to a new blood, named Badge, using a bottle. Her gasp of amazement as the bottle exploded into dust against her chest had been very satisfying, but had also led to her accidentally inhaling some powdered glass, which had led to several people yelling at JJ. Badge had been fine, but she didn’t throw mostly-disintegrated things at her siblings anymore. Also, Badge didn’t really hang out with JJ anymore.

“What was that? I mean, like, is that what entropy does? I’ve, um, I’ve never met someone who was good at it…Is that what you can do when you’re good at it?” Rose’s eyes were open wide as she looked at the rock dust in her palm, but she looked slightly guilty. JJ had no fucking idea why she seemed upset at her own comment, but Rose had very green eyes (even as bloodshot as they were) and JJ liked them nice and open, so whatever.

“Yup! They don’t call me JJ Decay _just_ for my exceptionally corrosive vagina, ya know.” JJ punctuated her comment with a wink.

“ _What??”_ Rose covered her mouth with the hand that didn’t have rock dust on it, much to JJ’s approval, and laughed. “Wait, whatcha mean “just”?”

“Nothing!” JJ announced, cheerfully. She closed her eyes, grinning widely, and scrunching up her nose in that adorable way that everyone loved. _You were supposed to ask if you could check._ Rose laughed in earnest. It looked like someone had a sense of humor after all. _Fixing your brain won’t be so hard, I bet. I bet it’s mostly state fucked and not trait fucked._ It occurred to JJ that if Rose let JJ lead her around, she might be into being topped. Perhaps going all mentor on her might be a smart move. Cyte had told her that their new addition was surprisingly naive about some of the particulars of being an Esper and The Zodiac Order. “So, do you know what it means if I can do that?” _Class is in session, bitches._ Might as well find out how much she knows about being a god. Besides, any chance to role play.

“Um…” Rose, despite not outwardly emoting that much, seemed like she was sure she was about to say the wrong thing. “You can do pyrokinesis…?” Rose started gushing, as though she was scared of leaving something out. “I mean, I know you can and a little about how you need to be skilled at a…” Rose waved a hand in front of her face “…thing to do something else, but the entro I knew could do psychokinesis too, I never actually saw him use it by the way, so I don’t know which it is. Like, I can’t do somakinesis if I’m not already a telekinetic and stuff, but I did soma when I couldn’t do telekinesis once so I dunno.” She looked a little bit sad. It took JJ a beat before she realized that the entro she was talking about was probably in her old cell. _DAMAGE CONTROL! ABORT! ABORT!_

“Well, I can teach you how it all works!” Enthusiastic and soothing. That was the best tone to take with the new blood and it was genuine this time. JJ’d had to fake it more than once with some of the others. “Wait, what do you mean you could do soma but not telekinesis?”

“I was on, you know, that dark blue—“ JJ Leaned forward, her face scrunched up a bit.

“Speak No Evil?? You were on Speak No Evil?” That wasn’t good. Better than Abyss, but still not good.

“Yeah, it…I really hated it. I fucking showed them though. I fucking showed them who was in charge. We _all_ did.” Rose was looking away again. Judging by her tone, it was an upsetting memory, and rightly so. An esper on a P.P.I.C. is an esper that’s having a bad day. JJ wondered if it had been the Shop of Abraxis but didn’t want to risk upsetting her. Fucking terrorist assholes. It occurred it occurred to her that if Rose used soma on Speak No Evil, it had either been a shit dose or she was a really good telekinetic or she was an okay telekinetic and it had been a mediocre dose. She wanted to know which it was and she wanted to know now. She smiled sympathetically.

“That’s really rough. I’m glad you got out.” _Hold eye contact for 3…2…1._ “But…I showed you mine.” JJ raised an eyebrow. “Just sayin’.”

A beat passed.

"Esperness, I mean.” _But, you know, if you wanna…_

“Oh! Right!” Rose seemed slightly embarrassed, but not embroiled in angst, so JJ was counting that as a good choice of words.

“What can you do?” JJ’s voice was teasing

“Um, we’re kind of out in the open.” Rose seemed to be trying to pick something. The new blood usually didn’t have that great a grasp on what their party tricks should be, so JJ offered a suggestion.

“Can you Boost?” Rose nodded, almost enthusiastically. _Bruiser!_   “Okay, make a muscle for me?” Rose flexed her right arm. JJ reached out and grabbed her bicep. It was pretty damn big. “Are you doing it?” Rose shook her head. ‘Okay, do it!” Rose firmly tapped her left hand against her thigh and her entire body seemed to tense. The muscle under JJ’s hand became even larger and harder. JJ squeed and lunged forward, placing her hands on Rose’s upper chest. “Okay, now stop!” Rose, who looked more than a bit startled but hadn’t jerked away _too_ hard, exhaled loudly as her body returned to what passed for normal. Her pecs didn’t shrink that much, so she must have been a midlevel Bruiser. The ones who were really good got fucking scary. “Sorry, just checking something.” She briefly considered kissing her on the cheek before deciding that that would be a bit too forward. Cyte might get pissed. JJ took her hands off and sat back. Rose ran a hand through her hair.

“Sorry I didn’t _do_ much of anything.” Rose seemed happy. For her, anyway. Her headache was palpable though. Maybe using her power helped her feel better. JJ sometimes started small fires to help her though hangovers. Sometimes she used her powers to do it too.

“We’ll get into a brawl or something soon enough. Show me then.” They smiled at each other. “Hey! Can you fly?” Rose got visibly excited. JJ was incredibly jealous of the teleks who could fly. Who wasn’t? Even the magenkinetics who could fly needed to be outside for it. Most bruisers couldn’t fly, but a few could and this was as good a time to ask about that as any. _How does it feel to fly with a hangover?_

“I can!—hm…D’ya think anyone’s gonna drive by?” She looked down the road. She looked like she really wanted to do something in particular. JJ was so down for this.

“Are you gonna do something cool if I say no?”

“Yes.” Rose said, cheeky.

“Then no. No one’s gonna drive by.”

“Are you su—“ JJ leapt to her feet and pulled Rose up.

“Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it!”

“Okay, Jesus. Alright.” Rose looked up and down the road. No one was in sight and they’d be able to hear a car approaching if one chanced by. “Okay, can you attest that, to the best of your knowledge, that I am not wearing any sort of harness—”

“Oh, get the fuck on with it.” JJ chided her, playfully. It was cute how she was making a show of it, as the new blood often did. Not that flying wasn’t cool, it just didn’t need, like, a ton of buildup.

“Copy.” Rose inhaled slowly and spread her arms as she rapidly levitated about thirty feet into the air. It was ballsy of her to go that high. It was also a good sign that she could move that fast. Fast flyers popped less often. JJ approved. Rose took another quick look around. “S’all clear.” JJ smiled and extended her arms up towards Rose.

“Good! Now come ba—“

“Hang on!” Rose smiled playfully as she extended a hand towards the camper. JJ was confused. What was she going to do? Adjust the mirrors or something? That was cool but it was a lot just to show off.

JJ’s jaw dropped as the whole fucking thing carefully lifted six feet off the ground. Rose flew over to it and landed on the roof. Looking pleased with herself, she took a minute to look down at JJ before she spread her hands out in front of her and slowly lowered them as the camper gently returned to Earth. Jesus fucking Christ, Cyte hadn’t said she could do _that._ If she could do that then…

“Fffffffffffffffffucking Hell…” _…Even more times than Cyte, maybe._ Rose jumped down from the roof, looking a bit taller. If her display had fatigued her she wasn’t showing it, aside from a small trickle of blood from her nose which was quickly wiped away. JJ had expected her face to be gushing. That should have hurt. A lot. Maybe the hangover was masking it?

JJ found herself conflicted. She wasn’t sure if she should be drooling over Rose’s massive potential for destruction or letting her know that letting it go to waste on self-pity and booze was self-indulgent and shitty. This was a choice that she had had to make when dealing her more powerful siblings before (although the substance and personality flaws in question might vary from case to case), and it usually wasn’t easy. It was complicated by the fact that JJ didn’t know how Rose dealt with criticism. Teleks were arrogant as fuck, even discounting everything else.

“Was that better?” Rose wiped her nose again, clearly waiting for a reply. It looked like her answer would matter. JJ bought herself a few seconds of time by holding a finger to her lips and making an exaggerated expression of consideration, while taking a good look at the person in front of her. She was younger than JJ or Cyte, but definitely not a child. Her tone had been cocky, but her eyes gave away the fact that she was ready to go on the defensive and wanted JJ to approve. She wanted that very badly, if JJ wasn’t mistaken. _Would it hurt your feelings if I said no? Would you get mad to hide it?_ It probably burned her ass that she couldn’t lie to Cyte. Maybe that was why she spoke to Cyte more; there was no point in being evasive. _Is that why you wouldn’t let anyone near you until now?_ _Also, are you gay? I’m not allowed to ask yet._ It was times like this JJ was jealous of Cyte. Stupid lack of brain mojo.

“Well…” JJ drew out the silence, smirking playfully. If she was that powerful, she was either a genius, even by esper standards, or had grown insanely fast. Either way, she had to be intelligent enough to know that what she was doing wasn’t good or healthy. Then again, being smart and being self-aware were two distinct things. She smiled sweetly and nodded. There was no sense in making her feel bad and that _had_ been pretty cool. This gig was totally in the bag. “Yes! That was very impressive.” Seeming to forget herself for a second, Rose grinned widely and…blushed slightly? She must be one of those junkies that wanted validation. Like, for example, most junkies. JJ could work with that. Fuck, this was going so well. “So, how old are you? In esper years, I mean.”

“I took a blue last August.” _Fucking Hell._

“Jesus! Did you fall into a vat of it or…?”

“Heh. I got two more hits before…before we met.” Genius then. She’d have to be at least on par with Cyte. That would be useful. JJ nodded approvingly again as she carefully chose her next words.

“D’ya do that better sober?” JJ was still being playful. That was a dangerous question and she knew it, but this behavior wasn’t okay. Not if she could sling telekinesis like that. Rose made a face and her posture became more closed. Still, no overload. She didn’t look JJ in the eye as she responded.

“I…guess, probably…yes.” She seemed embarrassed. Okay, more self-aware than a bag of rocks. JJ could work with that too. Cyte could work with it better.

“Well,” JJ responded, lightly “You’ll have to show me sometime. Cyte too. S’not good to let the bottled fun get in the way of what we can do.”

“…Yeah.” Rose admitted. She definitely knew that something needed to change. That was encouraging.

“How’s your hangover, killer?” Gotta show ‘em that you care about them and not just what they can do. The Order did care too, that was why they were the good guys.

“It’s pretty fucking shit.”

“Did you eat anything before you came out? I mean,” JJ glanced over at the puke “I guess it doesn’t _really_ matter, but…”

“Nah.”

“You should do that. Might wanna wait a bit before you have another drink too. I don’t wanna tell you what to do, I just don’t want your head to explode…Literally or figuratively.” _Do I need to tell you about popping? You must know about popping._

“Um…My, um…” Rose cleared her throat, embarrassed “Hands start to shake if I don’t…Ya know.”

“I geddit.” JJ nodded understandingly. _Shit._ At least it wasn’t seizures. “Well, there are worse things to have on a gig than shaky hands…Unless we need to use the guns, I mean.” JJ’s tone was airy, but she could tell that she’d gotten her point across. Rose looked deservedly abashed. “We might have to use the guns soon, by the way.”

“I know.”

“So you’ll need to do something about that.”     

“…’Kay.” This was going much better than anticipated. JJ smiled approvingly again.

“We’ll help.” Rose nodded.

“Did I feel the car lift a minute ago or was that a dream?” Cyte sounded groggy. 

“No, that really happened! It was _fucking_ awesome!”

“Did Rose do that?”

“Yes!” A pause followed.

“Was that a teambuilding exercise or are we going to die?”

“Teambuilding exercise.”

“Oh, good. How was it?”

“Fun and informative!” JJ sent Cyte her memory of Rose’s display. “D’ya think she can Blast?”

“Oh, good…Wow…Yes…About what?” On second thought, fuck groggy. Cyte was practically asleep.

“Many things! I’ll tell you all about it later. I think it’ll make things easier for everyone.”

Oh, good. Did you show her entropy?”

“Yes!”

“She didn’t end up inhaling anything that could kill her, yes?”

“No! That happened _once_.”

“Oh, good. Does she have radiation poisoning?”

“No! Fuck, I’m not that sloppy!”

“Oh, good! Did you guys talk?”

“Yup! Told ya, everyone loves me.” She heard Cyte chuckle affectionately.

“Oh, good. Come on, we need to be on the road.”

“Loud and clear, chief.”

“Sleeping now. Sleeping until dead.”

“Oh, good.”

“Shut up, JJ.” JJ briefly closed her eyes and laughed to herself.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Cyte and I were just discussing the itinerary. Come on, we gotta go. Unless you feel like vomiting some more?”

“No, no, I’m good. Ya know, you do it too much and it loses the magic.” The two of them shared a laugh and got back in the camper. As she pulled back onto the road and the sun shined down through the windshield, JJ decided that it was a good morning to be a god. Then again, most mornings were.

           


	18. Sunday, July 26th, 7:44 AM

Well, if you can't dig me, you can't dig nothin'.   


Do you want the real thing, or are you just talkin'? 

_\- The Cramps “Garbageman”_

 

Jazz was content this morning. He was giving his toolbox a quick look, making sure everything was there. Sometimes his tools went “missing”, especially when JJ was around. In fairness, at least she mostly used them for their intended purposes and he usually got by without them anyway. Usually. All were accounted for this time. Jazz was checking the state of his Philips head as he spoke. Truth be told, he was mostly checking for bong resin. There had been a few ill-timed incidents in the past. Everything else was set. The care packages were assembled and loaded up and the caddy had been left out back. He was probably going to miss that car more than the Ayn Softies. They should all be fine on their own. Edgewood, New Mexico wasn’t too far from their respective destinations.

The Ayn Softies were all scattered throughout the small welding supply store. None of them were supposed to be in there but the owner had conveniently forgotten to lock up and Jazz was confident that they wouldn’t be coming around. Commander Scrambles was curled up near the door, not far from which on the other side was a van, (unlocked and with the keys in the ignition, naturally) seemingly pondering the question that Gwen had put to him earlier: Who’s a good boy? He seemed very absorbed in it.

“Remember, you wanna use plates from the state you’re in. Police are less suspicious that way. Also, and I probably don’t have to say this, keep up with traffic and be extra careful about signaling, stop signs, and what have you.” Jazz turned his attention to Jackson. “And _don’t_ vape or smoke rollies. I don’t care if there’s nothing illegal in them; don’t do it. Don’t do anything that gives cops an excuse.” Jackson nodded. Curtis spoke up as he took a cigarette from behind his ear.

“So, how are we going to get the cars?” Curtis seemed genuinely invested in the answer. Jazz appreciated that in a person; god knows how many Ayn Softies had gotten caught doing sloppy car jackings.

“We find a car, someone will have left their keys in it, and off you go.” Jazz winked. Curtis nodded. He and Gwen seemed to get what Jazz had meant but Jackson clearly didn’t and Rachel was texting someone. _God damn you people._

“What if we, for some reason, lose the car?” Curtis asked. Jazz was impressed. An Ayn Softie who planned ahead; that was pretty rare. Jazz made note of it.

“Do you know anything about lockpicking or hotwiring?” Curtis shook his head. “Anything about electronic devices? Like, hacking them or taking them apart or anything like that?” Curtis shook his head again. Normally, that would have irritated him, but today it just serenely registered as a potential fly in the ointment. _Why doesn’t Ayn Sof ever target engineers or something?_ “Hm…I don’t have the time to teach you right now, but I’m pretty sure you could pick it up. Um, just be careful. If you lose the ride, then you gotta get another one and I won’t be there to help. Worst case scenario: ski mask plus gun plus yelling.” It wasn’t exactly true that they wouldn’t have help, but Jazz wasn’t about to give him a full rundown and then repeat himself for Jackson and Rachel. Besides, too many people knowing too many of the same things was dangerous. Besides, sometimes telling people that you wouldn’t help them made them work harder.

“I’ll go last. I can’t tell yinz too much, but just know that I’ll be much closer to the heat than you will, so just play cool and you should be fine.” _Assuming nothing goes horribly wrong._ “You each will have a care package with instructions. Read them as soon as possible and do exactly as you’re told.” None of them reacted quite as much as he had wanted them to, so he decided that it might not hurt to lay it on thick. Ayn Softies liked that. “We have four brothers and sisters depending on us. This is how we prove ourselves; it’s another step down the path we all started on. Not all of us get to walk it and fewer will reach the end, but we have to go as far as we can.” _Colloidal silver, chakras, kale is my spirit animal, the power of bullshit compels you, praise Jay-sus._ The Ayn Softies all looked a bit more serious after that. If nothing else, none of them looked confused. Things were going to be fine on this end; he could feel it. He had more than enough to work with and his gigs tended to shake out in his favor. He wondered if that would rub off on the strike team.

“Aren’t you from Long Island?” The utter inanity of Jackson’s question caught Jazz off guard.

“Uh, what?”

“You said “yinz”, isn’t that a Pittsburgh thing?” Jazz stared at Jackson for a moment before responding.

“I’m not _from_ Long Island, I moved there when I was twelve.”

“By yourself or with your family?”

“Um—“

“Are you gonna be okay?” Gwen asked, with badly masked concern. Jazz was grateful for the opportunity to ignore Jackson’s question. She was a sweet chick. She probably had a crush on him. That happened kind of a lot, no matter what JJ’s opinion on the matter was. A sleazier man with more time on his hands might have taken advantage of that, but few could ever accuse Jazz of having very much time on his hands.

“Pfft, I’m always okay.” He illustrated his point by looking at the cigarette that Curtis was finally moving to light. All of the tension went out of his body as a small flame briefly appeared on the tip. Curtis grinned widely and thanked him as the others golf clapped for him. Jazz winked at Gwen again, hoping that she didn’t end up dead or captured. He’d been doing so well with keeping the Ayn Softies alive and it would be a damn shame to break the streak with one of the ones that kind of mattered.

“How’s your back?” _Stiff as all fuck but better than yours would be, hon._

“I’m in fighting shape, don’t you worry.” Gwen smiled. “Now!” Jazz clapped his hands together enthusiastically, mostly to get Rachel to take her eyes off of her fucking burner again. _Who the fuck are you even texting?_ “The care packages have your destinations Don’t share this information unless you absolutely have to.” Rachel seemed annoyed at being interrupted. _You just lost your Kiss privileges, miss._ She was probably going to be arrested within a month.

“What? Why?” _Because you’re an idiot, Rach._ Jazz gave her his trademark winning smile.

“Protocol.”

“How do we get to these places?”

“Find a way.”

“But what if—“

“Let’s get started, people!” Jazz wasn’t about to entertain any stupid fucking questions right now. It never ceased to amaze him how few Ayn Softies knew shit about how to be freedom fighters. _Ya watch Fight Club fifteen times and go to one meeting and ya think you’re fuckin’ ready. Fucking Christ._ Gwen raised a hand.

“Wait, wait, wait, who’s going to take Commander Scrambles?” If Jazz was being honest, and he generally wasn’t, he didn’t a shit and a half about Commander Scrambles. It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs, it was just that greater things were a stake. Still, he decided that there was no reason to be unkind. He was a pretty good dog after all. Probably would have made a good pet if Jazz had had any room for that in his life.

“Gwen, you take him. He likes you best.” Gwen smiled as the others made noises of disappointment. Commander Scrambles look up at them and wagged his tail. Jazz wasn’t even sure if that was true but he knew that they knew that a handful of espers had the incredibly rare and profoundly useless ability to read the minds of animals and he also knew that they didn’t know that he couldn’t do that. He grabbed his toolbox, full of enthusiasm to finally get some alone time and go the fuck home for a bit. He raised it above his head before giving out the call to action.

“Let’s do this!” The Any Softies cheered, followed him outside, and piled into the van with him. After they sorted out which duffle bag went with whom, Jazz asked to see Gwen’s. He took out the small notepad that had her instructions written on them, took a pen out of his jeans pocket and added “Please rename the dog” before returning it and giving the bag back to her. After quickly checking to make sure Commander Scrambles was securely in someone’s lap, they were off. They’d have to move quickly. Jazz didn’t want to risk someone recognizing the van. It didn’t help that some redneck had spray painted “NO FEAR” on the side.

Jackson was the first to go, a few minutes of driving later. At his signal, Jackson grabbed the burgundy duffle bag, jumped out of the van, and got into a green Toyota Highlander parked in front of a small, white house. He drove off immediately; the keys had been left inside of that vehicle, just as Jazz had wanted. Jazz didn’t bother to tell him that this was a backup car; he struck Jazz as the kind of person who wanted a revolution, but only if he got to be front and center. Jazz texted JJ and BexLee the destination, Jackson’s name, and the cars details.

Rachel was next with a lovely green Acura MDX that had been parked by the side of the road, near some trees. It looked like there had been a party or something, a few other cars were nearby. JJ had better fucking appreciate that. She’d given him shit last time for hooking her up with a string of unassuming, but functional, junkers. Before she got out, Jazz reached back and gave her a quick, one-armed hug. He sort of hoped that he never saw her again, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he did. Rachel and Jackson had been like too many other disciples; they just wanted to be special. No, not just wanted. They thought that they _deserved_ to be special. They weren’t. Jazz couldn’t sniff out potential, but he could sure as fuck see a massive lack thereof and those two didn’t make the cut. Too many people in the world didn’t know that about themselves. Jazz texted JJ and BexLee again before driving a few more blocks to some business or another; Jazz could see a sign but didn’t bother to read what it was. There was a green Hummer out in front of it with the keys on the dashboard and the door open. The owner was passed out in a puddle of his own vomit as short distance away. Jazz parked and looked back at the two remaining Ayn Softies.

“Both of you, gimmie your bags.” They obliged and he pulled out his pen and their respective notepads. On both, he wrote “FOR EMERGENCIES! GOOD UNTIL THE 30TH!” and added BexLee’s number underneath. This was _not_ a backup car and neither was Curtis’. He addressed them seriously as he replaced the objects and gave the bags back. “Listen. Those two are getting the backups but, I’m going to be perfectly honest, they’re also decoys, okay?” Their eyes widened at that. “Don’t fucking tell _anyone._ We’re fine, we haven’t been followed, but this is serious, okay? I need you both to follow your instructions. If you can’t, for _any reason,_ call the number.”

“What about the others?” Gwen clearly hadn’t anticipated that. Curtis didn’t seem as upset.

“They’re taken care of. Don’t worry. I’m you guys a direct line; they don’t need one and you do.”

“To what?” Jazz clicked his tongue and winked at her yet again.

“Esper nine one one, babe. C’mere.” He hugged her as warmly as he could from the front seat. “You’re gonne be great, now get outta here.” She obediently jumped out with the bag and Commander Scrambles, got in the Hummer, and drove off. She’d be okay; he had a hunch. He sent JJ and BexLee her information and let BexLee know that she and Curtis had their number. The Hummer and the van took off in different directions. Now was a good time for a heart to heart.

“Hey, man.”

“Jazz?”

“How long have you been down with us?”

“Nine months, about.”

“You took the decoy thing pretty well.” Curtis shrugged. Good sign.

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” _Yes, we fucking do, buddy._

“What if I told you that you were a decoy?” Curtis shrugged again. Curtis was being casual but Jazz could tell that it wasn’t completely genuine. He wasn’t weak or a coward, he was just trying to keep his cool in front of Jazz, like a new soldier talking to his commanding officer. Curtis took a moment before answering. Jazz was no psyker, but he knew that that question would be rolling around in the guy’s head for a long time.

“Then I guess this gig needed a decoy.” He finally responded. Jazz smiled reassuringly.

“Your work ethic has been noted, sir.”

“I’ve seen the ones with a bad work ethic. They don’t ascend.” There it was. _Neither will you, but good for you._ Jazz nodded.

“True. Do you have a knife yet?” _Do you know what that even means yet?_

“No.” Curtis seemed to understand. Jazz was legitimately surprised.

“So, have you seen home?”

“Not since I joined up with the movement.” That time Curtis didn’t understand what Jazz had meant, he could tell. This kid was getting fucking shafted. “Hey, Jazz?”

“What’s up?”

“How long did it take you to ascend?” _A second._

“I studied Ayn Sof for about five years before it happened.” Jazz hadn’t even heard of Ayn Sof until after he’d manifested and met a few Zodiac Order espers.

“How do you…get there?” _Win the genetic lottery._ Jazz locked eyes with him in the rearview mirror and spoke earnestly.

“You’ll know.”

“Yeah?” Jazz nodded.

“Yeah.” Jazz used to keep track of how many times he’d lied about that. He stopped after it hit the double digits. It had hit the double digits a while ago. Jazz couldn’t help that, but he could do Curtis a solid. This shafting would not fucking stand.

A few minutes later, they were in the parking lot of a Walmart. There were a few cars scattered about and one of them, a green Ford Explorer, was probably unlocked and had the keys inside.

“Curtis?” Jazz felt the need to reassure him, which wasn’t common.

“Yeah?”

“Take that car, get the fuck out of here, and get to the location. You’ll be okay from there, I know it.” _I think._

“How?”

“I got you, man. I got you.” Jazz winked at him in the rear view mirror. Curtis smiled and nodded. The kid was nervous but he wouldn’t’ crack. None of them would.

“Oh, um…”

“What’s up?”

“All the cars are green, is that…you know, you?” Jazz nodded, impressed.

“Didn’t think anyone would notice. It’s for your benefit, trust me.”

“Why?”

“Green cars are pulled over the least often.” Truth be told, there were a million other factors influencing that but Sync had a wonderful way of controlling for covariates, whatever the fuck that meant. Clara Cyte had said it once, so it was probably true. “Now get outta here. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Curtis jumped out, got in the car and drove off. Jazz, once again, texted JJ and BexLee with the details, letting the car roll slowly. He added “I think he found his knife.” A moment later, BexLee replied

“tits or stop txting douche ;p”

“gimmie a sec” JJ replied more quickly than Jazz would have expected, if he hadn’t known her already.

“legit m8?”

“a girls here” A beat passed with no response. Jazz started cruising towards the parking lot’s exit as his phone buzzed again. He was obligated to check his phone whenever contacted and so, against his better judgement, stole a quick glance at the screen again.

“BOOOSH” A selfie of JJ lifting up her shirt and exposing her tits accompanied her text. He laughed and allowed himself to take in the view for a second. Another person was partially in the picture and was apparently manning the wheel. Judging by the pose, they hadn’t anticipated JJ doing that. Some primal desire to register what their face looked like led him to linger his eyes on the screen for just a breath longer. He pitched forward as he tapped the car in front of him, swearing loudly. He looked up to see who he had hit and sucked in a breath through his teeth. A police officer was exiting the cruiser that Jazz had just tapped. Jazz pocketed his phone and rolled down his window as the officer approached.

“Officer, I am so so—“

“License and registration.” Oh, this man was not happy with Jazz. No, indeed.

“Yes, sir.” Jazz calmly reached for the glovebox. With a little bit of luck, exactly what he needed would be in there. When he opened it, a small bag of what Jazz immediately recognized as crystal meth fell out and onto the passenger’s seat. A long, agonizing moment of silence was shared between the two men as the cop walked around the front of the van, opened the passenger door, and picked up the bag.

“Do you wanna explain this to me?” Jazz cleared his throat as he searched for a story.

“Well, um, I went to a Breaking Bad party last night and, um, as a joke, I got some rock candy and I, um, bagged it up and gave it out as a joke and, um, I guess I forgot that I had left some in the car. It’s just a joke, you know, like, it’s candy.” The cop nodded.

“Why are you driving Chett Mander’s van?” Jazz cleared his throat again.

“Um, well, Chett was at the party last night and he’s pretty hungover, so he asked me to drive here and get some snacks and soda to help him out, but my car was out of gas so he let me take his van.” The cop glanced into the back of the van, which contained no shopping bags or snacks of any kind. Jazz was ready to tell him that they were in the trunk, but the cop took the conversation in a much less convenient direction, as cops often do.

“You know, Chett Mander was arrested for possession of methamphetamines last night.” Jazz acted surprised.

“What?? Then who gave me his keys?”

“Actually, this van belongs to my son.” The cop cut Jazz off as he started to reply. “Who is in New Orleans.” If that was true, then Jazz was going to be arrested for driving a stolen vehicle. If it wasn’t, then the cop was trying to get him to admit to stealing the van. In either case, he was fucked unless the meth actually was rock candy. Well, no point in stopping now.

“No it doesn’t. The guy who gave me the keys said his dad was a salesman.” A beat passed.

“Step out of the car, please.”

“Hello, friend! I see you’re having some trouble. Let me borrow your face for a second?” Jazz didn’t recognize the voice, but he consented to let the owner of the voice see through his eyes. They must have been Order to see him and know what he was. Thank fuck that there had been another esper in the parking lot. Jazz slowly undid his seatbelt, scanning his eyes over the meth and cop before stepping out.

“I don’t have anyone with me and I’ve got a knife, but no gun or drugs on me.”

“Oh, you’ve done this before! Great! Just look at him for a second, you’ll be fine.”

“Huh? Wait, what am I supposed to do??”

“I got it.” Jazz didn’t get what the voice meant, but he looked at the cop as he approached and ordered him to turn around and put his hands behind his back. “Run. Now.” Well, _that_ was real fuckin’ helpful. Jazz started sprinting away. Oh, to be a soma. The cop shouted and started chasing him. Jazz wasn’t worried about being caught on foot, but he needed a better solution. “Run around the back of that Denny’s. Get as far ahead of him as you can.”

“This better be good!”

He ran as fast as he could; the distance between him and the cop was slowly, but surely, getting wider. He turned the corner of the building.

“STOP.” He almost fell as he skidded to a halt. “Act casual.” Jazz pulled his phone out and pretended to be texting. The cop turned the corner. He quickly looked around before addressing Jazz.

“Did you see a white man with long hair run through here??”

“Yes, officer. He went that way.” Jazz pointed in the direction that he would have been running in.

“Ah, shit.” The cop took off running. Jazz stood there, staring.

“You owe me such a blowjob.”

“What did you do?”

“He’s looking for Chett Mander.” A winking smiley face appeared in Jazz’s mind.

“Where are you?”

“Very far away.”

“Like…inside the Denny’s?”

“Ew, no.”

“Then where—“

“Enough questions! Talk soon.” _Talk soon?_ Why not now? Jazz walked to the edge of the Denny’s parking lot, took a quick look around, and got into an unlocked car that some idiot had thoughtfully left the keys inside of. He drove off, through the parking lot and onto the road.

Why hadn’t the other esper shown themselves? If they had been close enough to see the cop, then they could have done things more quickly. And why had they asked Jazz to look at the cop? And what “very far away?” Where had they been? Where could they have been that was far away? Like, a roof or something?

Jazz’s eyes widened. No. No, Jazz didn’t even know that guy. His thoughts were interrupted by the stabbing pain of a cluster headache. Jazz only got those after one thing.

“Motherfucker…” He said quietly, to himself. “Lucky motherfucking, motherfucker…”


	19. Sunday, July 26th,  3:00 p.m.

“There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.”

\- Howard Zinn

 

 

“Good afternoon, Agent Hooper.” Ethan groggily turned his head towards Dr. Steel’s voice. The man was sitting next to his bed with a clipboard. He was looking at the clipboard, not Ethan. His tone was even and soft, but utterly devoid of genuine warmth. They had known each other for too long for Ethan to be naïve about that. “Glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?” Ethan responded slowly.

“Very, very, high, sir.” Keeping a professional tone while high was a skill in which all psi-operatives were thoroughly practiced.

“That would be the painkillers, yes.” He scribbled something down. “What about your other symptoms? Headache, nausea, disorientation? Are you still experiencing those?” All of those symptoms were technically accurate, but the words didn’t accurately reflect the severity of what he had felt earlier. He noticed that Dr. Steel hadn’t bothered to ask Ethan if his sight and hearing had returned, but he supposed that he didn’t really need to. Ethan had been almost sure that he had been dying, even before the burning and stabbing had started. Ethan felt his stomach knot as he wondered if he had brain cancer now. He kept his worry off of his face though. He was a soldier and he had access to the finest doctors in the world.

“Much less now, sir.” Currently, Ethan felt like he had a vicious hangover. He had never been relieved to feel like that before. It was like coming back from Hell with a sunburn.

“Good. The test results will take some time; I’ll notify you when they come back. Given your skills, you should be fine.” Dr. Jacob Steel was speaking reassuringly. After his years of working with psi-ops, he probably knew exactly what was on Ethan’s mind. “You have been authorized to patch yourself up as soon as you’re able. Frankly if you’d like to enjoy the chemicals a bit longer than you need to, I won’t tell anyone.” Ethan wasn’t sure if that was a trap or not. Dr. Steel was a good man, but you could never be sure. Ethan was always being watched. All of them were. Dr. Steel appeared to be ticking off a checklist. When he was done, he turned his attention back to his psi-operative. He delivered the bad, but expected, news with the bedside manner of a true professional. Given the consequences of upsetting people like Ethan, the Institute specially trained their doctors for that.

“We found compound I10013 in your bloodstream.” Of course, they had. Nothing else felt like that. Whoever had invented Abyss was a sick and evil person among sick and evil people. “Additionally, your home was invaded by at least one technokinetic and one pyrokinetic. Taking these and a few other facts together, it looks like it was Abraxis.” Speaking on the topic of sick and evil. “We believe that this was a message in response to my recent project.” _If you can’t beat up your neighbor, you kick his dog._

“Why is that, sir?” Dr. Steel scribbled something else down before responding.

“If they had wanted you dead or taken, they could have made it so, agent.” Ethan’s pride was slightly hurt, but he didn’t let it show. “Your personal effects have been removed from the site of the attack and are on location. You’ll be stationed here until further notice. You are to keep up with your normal training after you recover, but this is not a disciplinary relocation and you will be afforded accommodations befitting of your rank. You are authorized to leave the base as normal. Employ the usual amount of discretion, unless you would like any of these situations to change.” He did not. He had seen the short-term effects of the reeducation of those who did, back when he was in therapy. He would not be going back to therapy and he would never go to the other place.

“Yes, sir.” Ethan wondered if any other espers were on site, but knew better than to ask.

“Do you like Dallas, Hooper?”

“I’ve never been, sir.”

“Then I encourage you to go out and get some barbecue when you’re recovered. Are you able to patch yourself up yet, agent?” The knot in Ethan’s stomach tightened as he realized the real purpose of that question.

“How long has it been since the attack, sir?”

“About eighteen hours.” Ethan nodded and slowly inhaled. _Please, God. Please don’t let them take it away._ Ethan clenched his right hand and concentrated. Wonderfully, he felt the calm come over him and, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt good. After a moment, he felt his body repairing itself. The bones in his nose and face knit back together; swelling went down in some parts of his body as flesh filled out in others. It was taking longer than usual, but not because of him. _Those bastards fucked me up good._ He felt the flesh of his torso stitching itself back together oddly. The cut pattern was large and unusual. When it was done, he exhaled and the pain that was left was greatly reduced. He was still very high. Dr. Steel scribbled something else down and began removing Ethan’s wound dressings. “Glad to see that the bastards couldn’t keep you down, Ethan.” His name; that was the most affectionate thing a psi-operative could hope to hear from a superior. Ethan was grateful for it. When Steel was done, Ethan sat up and spoke again.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Agent?”

“What was the nature of my torso wounds?” Dr. Steel looked at Ethan for a moment before pulling a picture from his clipboard and handing it to him. _These and a few other facts…_ It was Ethan, on a hospital gurney. His arms and chest had third degree burns. One eye was black and swollen to a grotesque degree. Blood was pouring from his shattered nose. A large, bloody, dollar sign had been cut into him, from ribcage to pelvis. Dr. Steel continued talking, his tone never changing.

“No one outside of us saw you come in, so your recovery shouldn’t be noted. You do have a new assignment, in two days.” _That’s bullshit._ “You won’t have to travel, at least. Normally, you’d have some time off, but this is an unusual case. Agent Stokeworth will fill you in.”

“Will agent Stokeworth be coming here, sir?” Ethan immediately regretted asking and hoped that it would be chalked up to the painkillers.

“No.” Dr. Steel scribbled something else down. “You should sleep for a bit.” That wasn’t a suggestion. Ethan laid back down.

“Sir?”

“Agent?”

“Who notified the authorities about my assault?” Dr. Steel clicked his pen shut and stood up.

“The people who assaulted you, Agent Hooper. They called my personal phone.” Dr. Steel stood up and grabbed a few items from a nearby cabinet. When he turned back to Ethan, he was slowly filling a syringe with a clear liquid. A long time ago, Ethan would have wondered if it was therapeutic or punitive. He had learned by now that the difference was entirely a matter of perspective.

**Author's Note:**

> Jeremy Bright, Tara, The Scream, and Psionics: The Next Stage In Human Evolution are the property of End Transmission Games LLC. Mambo, Jude, Arsyn, Wilbur, and The Bad Luck Boys belong to Emily Foley. In fact, Jude, Arsyn, Wilbur, and The Bad Luck Boys are from her original work Or Does It Explode?, which you can, and should, read here: http://www.jukepop.com/home/read/2137 All other characters in this work are mine.
> 
> Otto's Shrunken Head is a real bar on East 14th Street and was also featured in "The Kids From Yesterday" which is in the core book. If anyone was wondering, the cocktail Rose binges on is called a Volcano Blast and it has something like 10 shots in it. The place on Orchid Street is called Fifth Ward and they really do have that bottomless boozy brunch deal, at time of writing.


End file.
